


Maps

by solongsun



Series: Maps [1]
Category: Dir en grey, the GazettE
Genre: AU, Angst, Jrock - Freeform, M/M, Mental Illness, So very AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 59
Words: 216,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solongsun/pseuds/solongsun
Summary: April 8, 1970: the day of the Ten-Roku gas explosion, and the day that 22-year-old Ruki attempts to end his life. Less than two weeks later, he finds himself committed to the Yamauchi Hostel, a psychiatric hospital in the Kyoto hills. Kept on a ward with a number of other ill young men, Ruki is sometimes frightened and sometimes enthralled by his new friends – and none more other than the 'untreatable' Kyo, whose hospitalisation hides a legacy of dark secrets...





	1. Chapter 1

Later, when the dust settled and the flames were finally extinguished, nobody could have honestly said that they'd seen him. A slight young man with his coloured hair tucked up under a beanie and his wild, exhausted dark eyes hidden behind sunglasses – no, they didn't see him. And, even after the events that shaped that day were really set in motion – the hazy blue evening sky gone black with death, and bright, oily-orange flames screaming their way through buildings and cars and people – he couldn't say he had seen them, either.  
  
He hadn't seen anything that he could recall since earlier that day, when he'd left the home of E. O., the artist, in a state of some heightened confusion and distress; and so when he got home, the only passing fragments of the Ten-Roku gas explosion that he kept were the faint but through layer of dust on his clothing, and the slight smell of smoke in his hair.  
  
They showed it on the news later, of course, after the last people had died. There were 79 fatalities, all in all. He missed that too, though, because by the time the news came on at six, he had already run a very hot bath and was taking his time easing himself into it, inch by scalding inch, not bothering to hiss at the temperature but breathing just slightly unsteadily, and keeping his eyes fixed solidly on the water.  
  
Steam rolled away in clouds. His skin grew pink. The ends of his hair swayed below the surface like tree roots dabbling into a bog. When he felt he had acclimatised enough to the water, he reached for the supplies he'd set on the side of the tub: a large glass of cold water, and a glass pill bottle.  
  
He could hear the television in the other room, and the sound of somebody clattering around with pots in the kitchen.  
When he'd looked inside the bottle there had been more than he had hoped; there were at least thirty or so. Keeping his gaze squarely on the tarnished chrome faucet opposite him, he began to take them swiftly, between gulps of water.  
  
At first, nothing happened for a long time. The water went from hot to warm, and then grew tepid. Gradually though, Ruki's view of the end of the bathtub grew foggy, and his fingers relaxed around the pill bottle, and his eyes slid closed. He felt muffled, as though a tremendous weight was pushing in all around him. Red and blue lights flashed weakly against the backs of his eyelids, his arm slackened against the side of the tub, and the pill bottle shattered against the bathroom tile.  
  
Finally, sleep came like a glad tide and rushed him away.

 

___

  
  
'Well, you were a very lucky young man.'  
  
Ruki stirred in his chair uncomfortably. The good weather had evaporated in the week he'd been in hospital; the sky was a turbulent greyish colour, and a fierce wind was blowing. He could see it in the way it was yanking the trees to the side, and in the way all the pedestrians on the street outside were huddled into themselves, but he couldn't hear it. He was sat in the office of Doctor Ueda, and the windows were the double-thick, hermetically sealed kind that didn't rattle. The walls were painted a soft beige, and the potted plants had leaves so green and glossy, they were possibly not real.  
  
The wall behind the doctor was covered with framed certificates, and Ruki was just setting about trying to read the strange, spiky-pretty words on them, when Doctor Ueda cleared his throat and sort of yanked his attention back.  
  
He was _old_ , like a grandfather. The skin on the backs of his tidily linked hands looked as thin as paper.  
  
'This is a safe place, and I want you to feel comfortable here.'  
  
'Aren't you going to ask me why I tried to kill myself?'  
  
'Not yet, no. Why don't you try telling me what you did earlier that day?'  
  
Ruki shifted again, pulling his knees up to his chest. There was a rip starting in the knee of his jeans; he picked at it absently. The silence inflated like a balloon. When it became obvious that Ueda wasn't going to break it, Ruki shrugged.  
'You don't remember?'  
  
Shake of the head.  
  
'But you do know which day I'm talking about?'  
  
Ruki lowered his chin onto his knees, gazing up at the doctor stubbornly.  
  
'Every other day this week I've been in hospital. They only just let me out.'  
  
'And how have you felt this week?'  
  
Another shrug, though the angle of his neck made it awkward and lopsided. 'Tired.'  
  
'Tired. All right.' The doctor flexed his fingers, and then linked them again. 'Now, your mother tells me that this isn't the first time you've tried to hurt yourself; is that right?'  
  
'It didn't hurt.'  
  
'Excuse me?'  
  
'I said it didn't _hurt_. The pills. Didn't hurt.'  
  
'I see. Well, shall we say that this isn't the first time that you've tried to harm yourself, then?'  
  
Ruki scowled, but rubbed the heel of his hand against the side of his head tiredly, and seemed to give in.  
  
'What happened the first time?'  
  
'You know what happened. You have my file open in front of you.'  
  
'That's true. But I want to hear what you have to say about it, in your own words – if you don't mind.'  
  
Ruki's face suggested that he minded an awful lot, but the doctor waited patiently, and finally his huddled little patient gave a big sigh, ruffling the strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face.  
  
'I drank bleach,' he mumbled.  
  
'How much did you drink?'  
  
'About three big swallows.'  
  
'Had anything happened to upset you?'  
  
'I got kicked out,' Ruki whispered. 'Of school.'  
  
'It says here that you were at art school.'  
  
'Osaka University of the Arts,' Ruki said, like it was a correction. He noted that the pride he normally felt associated with the name of the prestigious place was gone.

 _Good riddance_ , he thought.  
  
'Why did you have to leave?'  
  
'I didn't do the work.'  
  
'Did you want to do the work?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Did anything in particular stop you?'  
  
Ruki visibly swallowed, his throat working rhythmically. He didn't meet the doctor's eyes any longer; instead, his gaze leapt erratically around the room. His posture had changed; it was stiffer.  
  
'Everything I made was rubbish,' he said. 'I thought I couldn't make anything meaningful or significant. So I spoiled it. I tipped ink over it all and threw it away.'  
  
'And then you drank the bleach?'  
  
Ruki gave a tiny, flinchlike nod.  
  
'A that time you were living in student dorms. Did you move back in with your parents afterwards?'  
  
Another nod.  
  
'And how was that?'  
  
A jagged shrug.  
  
'Your mother tells me that when you took those pills, you didn't lock the bathroom door, because you wanted to be found. She thinks you didn't really want to die. How do you feel about that?'  
  
'I don't know.'  
  
'You don't know how you feel?'  
  
Ruki sighed, and knuckled his closed eyes. 'I was confused that day.'  
  
'Were you upset by the accident on the subway?'  
  
There was a long, long pause after that; so long that Doctor Ueda, who had spent the entirety of their meeting leaning co-operatively forward in his chair, sighed softly and eased himself back, tipping his head back slightly, studying the wall somewhere above Ruki's head. There was a print there – a framed Paul Klee landscape in peaceful shades of blue and green.  
  
It had hung in the doctor's various rooms ever since his days as a student; it had been given to him by a girlfriend, who had said the walls in his dorm were too plain. He must have looked at it a thousand times, but on that April day, he noticed for the first time that something was printed down in the corner. Hunching forward again, he squinted up at it. The girlfriend had been very very long ago, and so he wasn't looking for a love-note; he expected it to be title of the piece, as it was, and felt a little entertained that he had never thought to find out before. _Oceanische Landscape_.  
  
Oceanic Landscape. Ueda did not know a lot about art. Knowing that about himself, he could only smile at the thought that he had been gazing at the same painting for more than thirty years, and had not once realized that the life it held, its whole landscape, was underwater.  
  
He cleared his throat and noticed that his patient had opened his eyes, and that they were huge with tears.  
  
'The explosion at the subway station,' Ruki whispered, 'I didn't notice.'  
  
  
  
The Yamauchi Hostel wasn't much like he'd imagined. He and his parents had set out very early that morning to catch the train from Osaka to Kyoto, and now the three of them were sitting silently in a cab, which had turned off the city streets some twenty-five minutes ago and was now rattling cheerlessly along a country road. The fare meter was up over sixteen thousand yen already, and his parents still had to make the return journey. Their train tickets hadn't exactly been cheap, either.  
  
'How much does this place cost?' Ruki asked colourlessly, and his mother began to fuss with the strap of her handbag.  
  
'Never mind that,' she said, very prim. 'Just concentrate on having a nice rest.'  
  
'Am I here for a rest?'  
  
'That's what the doctor said, isn't it?'  
  
'A rest—'  
  
From the front passenger seat, Ruki's father made a warning noise, and his son sighed, tipping his forehead against the window. His breath clouded the glass. The road meandered up and between hills, and the scenery on each side had changed from meadows to dense woodland. The trees were skinny, with greyish, wintry-looking trunks and spindly branches. Ruki closed his eyes.  
  
'I'm not crazy,' he said.  
  
'I know, dear. We both know.'  
  
The driver, who'd been cast into a thoughtful silence by their destination, flicked on his turn signal. There were no other cars on the road to see it, Ruki thought irritably. He was just making a point. They turned onto a smaller but more evenly-surfaced road, and the asphalt gradually turned to gravel, which crunched regularly under the wheels of the car. The trees were thicker now, but greener, and all at once they fanned well out and away, and gave way to a large, circular drive set in front of a low stone building. At first glance, it could have been any kind of place, even tucked all away up here; an old house, or part of a farm.  
  
But the sign said Yamauchi Hostel. And there were bars on the windows. When he looked harder, squinting as if it was too bright, Ruki noticed that each set of bars had a few faces pressed up against them, watching the new arrival with interest. He pulled his gaze away, and swallowed thickly.  
  
A deep tremor started in the pit of his stomach and shook him to the tips of his toes and fingers, and right up to the top of his head. Even in April, the thin, cold mountain air smelled of winter, and it banged his teeth together uncontrollably. The skin on his face felt much too tight.  
  
He was aware that if he opened his mouth, something like a whimper might come out, so he shut himself up tightly.  
  
_I'm not crazy_ , he wanted to say again. He wasn't stupid enough to think there was any point, though.  
  
He wondered if E. O. knew where he had gone, or if he would hear about it through the grapevine. Possibly not – once Ruki had left university, he'd become pretty cut-off from the art world. E. O. had been his only remaining link to the bustling community of young-to-middle-aged artists he'd used to hang around with, and he'd been a pretty tenuous link, anyway. You couldn't exactly be part of a scene in secret.  
  
Maybe he'd write him a letter and tell him all about everything that had happened, and then he'd mail it and know that E. O. would probably feel awful. He'd spent a lot of his time in hospital doing that – imagining how E. O. would react to things. The problem with writing a letter was that he'd never really know what the reaction was; everything would have to come from him. He could describe the hollow thunk of the car door closing, the gravel crunching under his feet and the feeling of his mother's hand on his shoulder, or the cold hard lump of panic lodged in his chest and the way his breath seemed to be whisking away from him before he'd really used it, in the minutest of detail – and at the end of it all, he'd have no way of knowing if E. O. had even read it.  
  
  
  
'Please, take your time to read this before you sign. I understand that your doctor will have gone over the finer points with you, about life and treatment here, but I need to ensure that you fully comprehend that you are signing yourself into our care, and that once you do so, you will only be able to leave this facility once formally discharged. You may apply for discharge at any time, but the success of your application is to be decided by your doctor. Do you understand?'  
  
Ruki scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, feeling the little knobs of vertebrae pressing smoothly against his fingertips.  
  
'I'm just here for a rest,' he said.  
  
The woman at the reception desk suddenly gave him a wide, lipsticked smile, as if she'd just remembered that he was totally insane and thought he might be dangerous.  
  
'Everybody has to sign the same admittance form.'  
  
She waited, supremely composed, whilst Ruki flipped the pen they'd given him back and forth between his fingers a few times, and squinted down at the printed document in front of him. He hit the pen at a bad angle, and a large blue blot of ink spread rapidly over the dip between his thumb and forefinger. Underneath the dotted line for his signature, there was one for a parent or guardian, too; below that, there was one for a doctor, which had already been signed by Ueda.  
  
'Do my parents need to—?'  
  
'How old are you – twenty-one?'  
  
'Twenty-two.'  
  
'Your parents won't need to sign. You're an adult; this is your own decision.'  
  
Ruki gave a twitchlike nod, biting down on his lower lip. He thought about how much money his parents had spent to travel here, and how much this place would cost, and hesitantly drew his name on the line.  
  
'Thank you very much, Mr Matsumoto. On behalf of myself and all the staff here, welcome to the Yamauchi Hostel. In a moment, we'll take you through, and you'll have a short tour of the facility. Then, you'll have a shower and search, your personal belongings will be inspected, and you'll be given some clothing to wear for the time being. You'll notice most of the patients here wear their own clothes – this is a privilege, amongst many others that you can earn. Clothing with drawstrings, chains, belts, and any detachable sharps are forbidden; if you have brought any with you, they'll be given back to you upon discharge. Would you like to say goodbye?'  
  
Ruki's attention wasn't with her. There was a heavy wooden door to one side, open just a crack, and he had caught a small flurry of movement behind it. As he stared, his eyes met those of another person, who quickly ducked away. He took a curious step forward, but was derailed by his mother, who clasped him hard around the shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides so he was unable to hug her back. She was crying, he realised; he felt her tears wetting the hair just over his ear.  
  
His father wasn't crying, though, and so Ruki chose to look at him instead. He was talking quietly to the receptionist, but Ruki couldn't hear a single word. The whole building was silent. The only sound was the desperate rabbit skip of his own heart in his chest, and he thought it was the loneliest sound he'd ever heard in his life.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The clothing Ruki was given to wear consisted of a pair of plain, loose grey pants, sort of like pyjamas, a white T-shirt that was a few sizes too large, and a pair of black, slip-on plimsolls. His hair-tie had been taken from him, and so his brown hair tumbled messily around his neck, tickling him. Every inch of his skin felt covered with the itch of institutional clothing, and he kept tugging at the garments awkwardly as he walked through the same tour he'd already had. The first had been given by the head nurse, a calm, no-nonsense sort of person; this second was being given by his new roommate, an exuberant young man named Kai.

He wasn't exactly what Ruki had been expecting from a mental patient. There was a bounce to his walk, and he chattered away happily as he all but dragged his companion around; Ruki felt much more as if he was being taken around a new school by some kind of student advisor or class president – Kai was just that chipper.

'I guess you already saw the bathrooms. There's a sheet on the door – you need to sign in and out of there, okay? If you want to shave, you need to go to a nurse, or one of the orderlies, so they can get the razor for you and watch you while you do it. I guess that's pretty much it for the bathroom! Hi, Uruha. That's Uruha.'

Another young man had approached – or maybe had been standing there all along, lounging by the doorway to one of the rooms and holding a book limply in his hands. He wore a pair of glasses with thick black rims, and a small scowl. Ruki nodded at him tensely.

'This is Ruki. My new roommate.'

'Yeah? What's he like?'

'He's okay.'

Was it normal for them to talk about him like he wasn't there? Ruki must have looked surprised, because the gaze Uruha turned onto him was rather cool.

'I don't have a roommate,' he announced.

'Oh.'

'What's your book?' Kai wanted to know, and the change that came over the frosty man was as sudden as it was surprising; his face broke into a wide smile, instantly taking years off him, and he held the book up proudly.

' _The Local's Guide to Mexico_ ,' he read out loud, petting its cover. His smile turned fonder; his voice warmer, 'by Takashima Hayato.'

' _Oh_.' Kai turned to Ruki, his dark hair flying out with the ebullience of the movement, 'That's Uruha's father. He has a travel show on TV.'

' _The Local's Guide_ ,' Uruha added softly. He opened the front cover, and showed them both where, on in the inside of the dust jacket, there was a black and white photograph of the author. He closed the book, opened it again, and closed it again; opened it again, and closed it again; opened it again, and closed it again. He wasn't looking at them anymore, or talking to them, but his lips twitched very slightly, like he was saying something to himself. Twelve times he opened and closed the book, and then looked back up at them.

'This is Uruha's room,' Kai said informatively, apparently having decided on a different conversation, 'And in the room opposite, there's Aoi and Die – Die's got the red hair. Aoi's got the black.'

Their door was open, and 'red hair' was a pretty inadequate description, in Ruki's opinion. The man Kai had gestured to was tall – it was easy to tell even with him lying on his bed – and his hair was fire-engine red. He was wearing the same clothes Ruki was, and he looked thin enough to snap in two. He held a cigarette between two fingers, and an ashtray full of smashed butts rested precariously on the bed beside him.

'Hey Kai,' he said cheerfully. 'New roomie?'

'His name is Ruki.'

Die nodded at him amiably. 'Good to know you. Been anywhere like this before?'

Ruki shook his head no, and Die shrugged.

'It's not so bad.'

'Are you new as well?'

'Me? I've been here about seven months.'

'Your clothes—'

Die grinned, showing teeth. 'I lost a bet.'

'He lost dress privileges,' Uruha filled in, taking the responsibility away from Kai, who seemed breathless with his desire to explain, 'He'll get his real clothes back when he eats something.'

Die tipped his head back and blew a perfect ring of smoke towards the ceiling.

'Die's a psycho,' the one Kai had called Aoi said matter-of-factly. 'Starving is a shitty way to kill yourself.'

'I'm not _trying_ to kill myself.'

Aoi exhaled an angry cloud of smoke. 'I don't give a shit whether you're _trying_ or not; it's what's gonna happen if you hit that goal weight of yours.'

'Fat chance in this place,' Die said, unperturbed.

'Fuck you. I'm not having you die and getting some new roommate brought in.' He turned a pair of sharp, dark eyes onto Ruki, 'Kai's old roommate did it. Kicked the bucket. But it wasn't an actual bucket; it was a chair. Kicked the _chair_. Away. Got me?'

'Why'd he do it?' Die asked curiously, shifting comfortably on his bed.

Aoi's smile was catlike, and not entirely cold. 'Maybe he was having a fat day.'

 

_Dear E. O.—_

_I'm going to try and describe what it's like here for you._

_There aren't many people on the ward. Kai said that when we were taking our tour, some of them were out walking – they had grounds privileges. I don't know how you get those. Be good, I suppose, and try not to kill yourself._

_Every person I look at, I can't help but wonder what's wrong with them. Everybody is hiding their illness on the inside; they all look normal._

_I can hear you right now: what does normal look like, Ruki? I guess just like you, I don't know the answer._

_I don't know what's wrong with me, either. I wonder if all these other men have conditions and diagnoses, or if like me, they just fell apart one day. It sounds stupid, but if we're insane, couldn't anybody be? Anyone who ever felt like crying for no reason, or had a dream that they were so sure was real, even after they woke up? Anybody who felt like they just couldn't get out of bed at all, or did a bad thing, and enjoyed it?_

_If you want to try and picture me here, you should know that all the floors are that white hospital-floor texture, the shiny kind that orderlies are always mopping in books about places like this. Like in_ One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest _. The walls are colour-coded. Blue for dorm rooms, green for the dining room, white for bathrooms and lavender for living spaces. They're all ugly in their own unique way. You'd hate it. None of the colours here are vibrant; none of the people are vibrant either, even when they sound loud and enthusiastic._

_Everything is sort of dull and in slow-motion, like it's underwater. Everything is like a copy of a copy._

 

He wasn't going to mail it, of course. They'd taken his normal pen and given him a soft felt-tip to write with instead, and it had made his handwriting all but illegible; besides, he wasn't really writing it for E. O. – he'd never have addressed him that way. But what _would_ he have written? 'Dear Senpai'? He gave a soft, derisive snort.

It was more that it was easier to write for E. O. than it was to write for himself. Imagining the expressions crossing the other man's face made him feel as though they were experiencing this together; it gave him the encouragement to carry on writing it down.

'You a writer?' Kai asked. He was sitting cross-legged on the twin bed opposite Ruki's, with a pocket radio in his hands; it was tinnily playing The Beatles' _I'm Only Sleeping_ , and Kai was nodding along.

'Not really. I don't really like to write things down. I prefer drawing.'

Kai shrugged. Now that they were in their room with the door closed, he seemed much mellower. 'Why's that?'

'I don't know. I guess words don't change the way a picture does. With hindsight, you know?'

Kai tipped his head to the side quizzically, and Ruki sighed, struggling with how to explain.

'If I draw a line, I know right away if it's a good line. But I don't feel that way with words. If you write something and come back to it later, it reads back stupid.'

 _I'm Only Sleeping_ ended, and Kai gave a soft sigh of satisfaction.

'You'd better unpack, you know. You'll probably get your clothes back pretty soon. Did they take anything else?'

'They take other things?'

Kai's face suddenly darkened. He didn't look angry so much as incredibly troubled; he turned his radio up slightly and hung his head, shaking his hair over his face.

'They took my knives.'

'Your – knives?'

'I'm a _cook_. I like to _cook_. They didn't let me keep any of it. Even my pans.'

He was silent, and then suddenly flung his radio down on the bed, so forcefully it bounced back up again and clattered onto the floor. He paused, poised like a cat, but it played on. Slowly, he unfurled himself and gently picked it up.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I really miss cooking.'

'That's okay,' Ruki said faintly. He felt his eyes were wider than he could control, and his mouth was dry. He had been about to place his suitcase on the bed – it was a lot lighter without his clothes – but all the strength seemed to have gone out of his arms, and so he turned his back on Kai and opened it on the floor instead. Paranoid now, he scanned over its contents, but everything seemed to be in place; his portable record player and all of his records were still there, a carton of Marlboro, and his postcards.  
  
He'd been collecting them from art galleries for quite a while, and he would no more have travelled without them as he would have travelled without his own skin. They were getting a little dog-eared now, but he still took his time laying them out on his bed, one by one, like tarot cards. The soft, slick sounds of them comforted him. He put his favourite – a reproduction of E. O.'s _The Student at Work_ – at the centre, and let his fingers linger on its surface ever so slightly. He had used to keep it clipped to the side of his desk whenever he was working. A boy painting a picture, staring at a boy painting a picture. And now with tattered, greying corners on a hospital blanket, next to Kahlo and Klimt; _Broken Column_ , _Beech Forest_.

He had a headache. He drew his hands away from the picture and curled them against his temples.

'You brought records!'

Miraculously recovered, Kai was suddenly next to him, leaning right over his shoulders, stopping just short of falling right into his suitcase; his fingers trembled excitedly over the stack of records in their sleeves.

'Can – can I..?'

'Go mad,' Ruki said vaguely, and instantly felt his face grow warm. 'Sorry.'

Kai laughed, tossing his hair back. Gently, he perched on the side of Ruki's bed, hoisting the stack of records up onto his lap so he could look through them.

'Nobody you've met so far is like you thought, are they?'

'I guess not.'

'I felt that way too.'

'How long have you been here for?'

Kai paused, picking up a record squarely between his two palms, and lifting it up to his face to scrutinise the sleeve closely.

'Two years, nearly.'

Ruki's mouth felt dry. He settled back on his knees on the floor, and licked his lips to try and get the moisture back to them. 'Wow.'

'Wow,' Kai agreed.

'Do you miss your—?' Ruki hesitated. _Do you miss your life_ , he wanted to say, but he wasn't about alienate the least threatening person he'd met so far. 'Home?' he finished lamely, instead.

His fingers caught the neck of his T-shirt, and began to toy with it nervously, but Kai didn't look fazed.

'Not really. I mean, I miss my friends, and my room, but when I lived there I used to feel scared all the time. It's better now.'

'If it's better,' Ruki tried timidly, 'Could you go home?'

The other man beamed at him, a thousand megawatt smile. 'I'm not leaving,' he said. 'I like it here.'

 

Ordinarily, Kai explained to him, they'd be busy in the afternoons – they'd have group therapy or occupational therapy ('group' and 'OT' he'd called them blithely, Ruki tripping over all the words he was dropping), or if it was a Tuesday or Friday, in the art room, which also had a locked cage with tambourines, bongo drums and a guitar ('you can only use that supervised,' Kai explained, his fingers touching lightly about his neck, 'the strings, you know.').

Otherwise, there was a sitting room with a TV, and there was a room for playing music – there was an ancient piano ('only because they probably figured it was too big to be put in the cage') and a record player.

'Do you play piano?' Kai asked curiously.

Ruki shook his head. The door opened and a nurse popped her head around it; she surveyed the two of them and then left, leaving the door open a crack. Casually, Kai slithered off the bed, and closed it fully with a brisk snap.

'That's a shame,' he said, like they hadn't been interrupted. He went back to the records and – ' _Rubber Soul_!' he said enthusiastically, clamping the record to his chest. His dark eyes shone brightly, 'You brought The Beatles. I love The Beatles. “I'll get by with a little help from my friends...”'

Ruki smiled anxiously. 'Me too. I have all of their records.'

'I wish I knew what most of the words meant.'

'I guess maybe it doesn't matter.'

'Maybe.'

'Why'd you close the door?'

'I like it closed.' Kai gave him a sudden, searching look. 'I like the door closed all the time you can manage it,' he said seriously, 'If that's okay. I mean if you leave it open I can't concentrate at all, and I – I panic, sometimes.'

He smoothed the record on his lap, and smiled at his roommate comfortingly. 'You'll get used to it,' he said, 'Them coming in, I mean. You're new, so right now it's every half hour the door's closed, but they'll space them out more if you do okay.'

He stroked the record carefully. 'I just wish they'd close the door.'

 

Dinner was at five thirty, which seemed early beyond all reason; afternoon sunlight was still streaming brightly through the windows and collecting in glaring puddles on the floors. The air smelled of disinfectant and warm dust. For some reason, Ruki had initially expected the dining room to be something modelled on his high school cafeteria, with dozens of tables scattered around as if there were hundreds of people to be fed; instead, the room was small, with one oblong wooden table at its centre. The chairs were the plastic kind found in schools and assembly halls.

What surprised Ruki the most was that it was so much _louder_ than he had expected. He'd pictured dim, wan, quiet creatures huddled like wraiths around the tables, picking at their food in hospital gowns, all pointed elbows and glittering, hectic eyes; instead, he felt as if he were at a peculiar kind of summer camp. People were talking and laughing and hollering up and down the table, and you had to look closely to see that anything was, actually, wrong.

Except: the redhead, Die, was puffing away at a cigarette and sort of stirring the food on his plate around, and whenever he wasn't talking or joking with anybody else, a painful expression of tension came over his face.

Except: Uruha laid his napkin on his lap and then picked up again, and laid it down again, and picked it up again, and laid it down again, until Ruki thought he wouldn't ever stop. And then he chewed each bite of food exactly twelve times, on each side of his mouth. And drank exactly twelve sips from his glass at a time, but swapped hands between them, looking agitated and faraway; he was one of the few not talking.

Except: down the other end of the table, nearby Die, were people who Ruki hadn't seen or met yet, and they looked like mental patients, somehow. Real ones.

 

There were two of them, and maybe they weren't friends; they weren't talking and appeared to have been lumped together. One was very young looking, and pale, and he ate about half of his meal in perfect decorum, taking neat mouthfuls and patting his lips gently with his napkin. Then, very abruptly, he scraped his chair back, curled into himself and began to cry and hit up at the side of his face, catching his jaw with his wrist in the same spot over and over; a nurse and an orderly hurried over and attempted to force his arms down whilst another rang a call-button on the wall, and he arched off his chair as if in agony. His jaw was clenched, Ruki saw, and tears were sliding down his cheeks, but he hadn't made a sound. Then, when the chatter around the table died down, Ruki saw that he _was_ making sounds, talking almost too softly to hear and make sense of, _no, I don't want to, you're confusing me, you're confusing me_. His actions weren't violent, but there was an uncontrollable strength to them that was scary, like a seizure, and he continued his slow and twisting fight until the head nurse came walking briskly with a syringe, and shot something into his upper arm.

It wasn't immediate, but it almost was. He didn't go unconscious, but there was an awful slackening to his face and spine and limbs, like a paper boat taking on water and beginning to dip and sink, and spiral in the current; he would have fallen, a sad droplet, if he hadn't been caught by the hands around him. Eyes still open, tears still on his cheeks, drying now, lips still moving but slower – much slower. His hands were placed gently in his lap, his napkin taken and folded neatly on the table, the hair smoothed back from his face.

The other quiet one got to his feet, and Ruki was conscious of sinking down a little further into his chair. He didn't look angry, not exactly, but his face was set in a way that was tough and stubborn and frightening in its resolution; it might have been carved from stone. He placed both of his hands flat on the table, hunched over and shot a quick, short glare around at them. A particular talent: his eyes seemed, just for a moment, to meet every single other gaze squarely. He might not have been a single inch taller than Ruki, but he carried six feet of charisma on his shoulders.

'Don't stare,' he said at last. 'He wouldn't like to be stared at.'

Strange voice; smooth, and hoarse. Low. Not cold, not warm.

His eyes scanned them all again, rested on Ruki for a moment.

'Who's he,' he said, not exactly a question. He firmed his lips, pushed his plate away – it made a screeching noise across the table; he appeared not to notice – and began to assist a male orderly in gathering his friend, the marionette cut loose, to his feet. He came up in a disorganised bundle, but the actions were tender; the hands were strong, large and capable. They didn't look as though they should be moving quite so gently.

All Ruki could think about was how he had been wearing the institutional clothing, too. But he had been eating, and there was no chance that he was new.

Later he would learn that the man's name was Kyo, and that he had been there the longest of any of them. But in the next few days, and through the next few sleepless nights, he would think of him and wonder what terrible rule it was that he had broken – what awful thing he had done.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There were no baths, only showers. And the beds were slippery. The mattresses were the kind that were encased in clear plastic, and every time Ruki shifted during the night, he felt that strange slipping motion, like he wasn't on solid ground.

They gave him two bitter, dry little sleeping pills. Even so, he lay awake a long time.

He looked up at the smooth white ceiling and wondered how his life had become such a mess. Narrow shafts of moonlight shifted over the walls and the blanket of Kai's bed, edging his roommate's outline in pure silver, and Ruki felt himself sinking into the shadows, like the negative of a photograph. The bars on the windows cast long and delicate shadows over the walls, spindly as spiders' legs, reaching from the floor to the ceiling.

The silence throbbed and hummed in Ruki's ears. It was his own silence. When he stopped trying to hear past it, the sound of his own heartbeat became deafening; footsteps, muffled in his chest, pacing back and forth, back and forth – trapped. The birdcage of his ribs.

 

_Oh god, how am I supposed to get home from here?_

 

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he threw back the sheet and blanket covering him and padded carefully over to the door. He had the distinct feeling that this wasn't alive, but the drugs they'd given him had made him feel loose and dreamy, and not entirely real; not entirely in control. He might have been pushed along by a current – washed along on that silver tide that spilled and rushed through the windowpanes.

Carefully, he slipped out into the hallway, and closed the door behind him. The air was cooler out here – that thick, bone-deep chill of the night – and the overhead lights were dimly lit, making the night outside the windows look even blacker. For the first time, even through the drive yesterday, he was aware of being away from the city and truly _out in the country_ ; no traffic sounds, no toxic orange sky. The quiet was uncomfortable. He rubbed harshly at his ears until they were buzzing.

 

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, shivering in his thin pyjamas. The few thin shadows cast by the trees did not move across the floor. No clocks ticked, or birds sang. Occasionally, where the corridor bent in its L-shape, Ruki would catch the sound of a nurse's rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the polished floor, or see her light-footed shadow turn, but nobody ever came around the corner.

It was an important lesson to learn: with the head nurse and the attendant doctors gone home, the staff slacked off on their checks at night. He found himself hoarding that information, tucking it away like a squirrel storing a nut. For later. For just in case.

 

'You're gonna freeze.'

Ruki must have jumped about a foot in the air, and stood gasping whilst the man in front of him laughed. He must have been used to wandering around at night: his laugh was clear and low but almost silent, pitched almost inaudible, mostly air. Scowling, Ruki massaged his own chest, trying to calm the nervous lurch his heart had done.

'Pretty funny,' he said sourly.

'I'm told I am.'

'It's Aoi, right?'

'At your service.' He lit up a cigarette and puffed on it with evident pleasure. 'Come on, we're going to the art room; they never look in there.'

'Won't they check our beds?'

'You see anybody around? Come on, before they smell this.'

He blew a bluish cloud of smoke into Ruki's face and turned on his heel, marching away without checking that the other man was following him. He did though, of course, dogging along at Aoi's heels and casting the occasional anxious glance behind him; Aoi might have been nonchalant about it, but for all Ruki knew, he was some kind of psychopath with no chance of ever being released.

That thought entertained him later, when his mind was less foggy: if he truly considered that a possibility, it was strange that he had no qualms following a total psycho into a dark, secluded room. Maybe he was just as crazy as they thought.

The art room was small, and mostly empty-looking when its clutter of chairs and easels had been pushed away into corners for the night. Aoi seemed comfortable enough, though; he closed the door behind them and shoved one of the sash windows up as high as it would go, taking in a deep lungful of night air. His hands curled briefly around the bars, and then he turned and shot Ruki a wolfish grin.

'You were a voluntary,' he said.

'Voluntary?'

'You signed yourself in. No section. No police. Nobody dragged you here kicking and screaming. You got me?'

'Oh. Yeah, I was. Am.'

Aoi took a drag of his cigarette and tipped his head back, revealing the long, pale line of his neck as he let the smoke flair slowly from his lips and veil his eyes. 'So what's the deal?' he demanded. 'You do something bad?'

He caught Ruki hesitating, and rolled his eyes impatiently, 'You may as well 'fess up, newbie; it'll all come out in group, whether you want it to or not.'

Ruki sighed and shivered, pulling the sleeves of his pyjamas down over his hands, 'I took pills.'

Aoi's eyes lit up with interest. 'Yeah? Like downers, you mean?'

'No, like normal pills.'

' _Oh_. But in _slight_ excess of the stated dose, I'm guessing.'

'Something like that.'

'So you're a suicidal. They get half their patients that way, I swear. They can't leave you in peace and let you get on with it; they have to drag you back from the edge and stick you in a place like this. Makes you wonder why they fucking bother.'

'Is that how you came here?'

'Me?' A flash of that wolfish grin again, 'No chance. Cigarette?'

Ruki took one from the offered packet, and leant into the small flame of Aoi's lighter.

'How, then?' he asked.

The grin widened. '“Unnatural desires, promiscuity and lascivious behaviour”. At least, that's what it said on my intake form.'

He leant back against the window frame, the cool night breeze catching at strands of his dark hair where it hung around his jaw and neck. 'It means I'm a homo who wasn't smart enough to hide it. And you don't need to act awkward, either; I know you are too.'

Ruki shrugged uncomfortably. 'I'm not really sure what I am.'

'Yeah?' Aoi raised an eyebrow. 'Well, you know where I am if you ever want to find out.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' Ruki said dryly, but a smile was tugging at his lips, and when he let it win he found that Aoi returned it.

'You voluntaries drive me crazy,' he said. 'This is no place to spend your time, so if I were you I'd hurry up and get better.'

'So if you weren't voluntary,' Ruki asked curiously, 'That means someone put you here?'

Aoi laughed humourlessly. 'My parents. Found me in my sister's old school uniform down at the docks; it's pretty hard to talk your way out of something with a mouthful of dick. Worked out just in time for them – they got me when I was nineteen. Two more months and I would have been of age, and they wouldn't have been able to do it. Same thing happened to Uruha, but he was a bit younger – seventeen, eighteen, I think. Now _there's_ a fucked up family. Don't believe all his Saint Daddy bullshit; I've seen that guy's TV show, and it's _ass,_ like it fucking _sucks_. Wait till you see him, too – you never saw such a creep; big white TV smile, crisp white collar, the works. His parents visit all the time; they feel guilty, I guess. Anyway, we were both on a different ward then, and when I got committed, Uruha used to be a part-timer – he'd live at home most of the year and come here for treatment during the holidays. People still do that. Things were a bit better on the under-age ward; they gave you more freedom, you know; wanted you to have a 'normal childhood'. I used to help him _relieve his tension_.'

He made a crude hand gesture and laughed again, although there was more warmth in it this time. The smile lingered on his face, and though the look he gave Ruki was searching, it was friendly too.

'Anyway,' he said at last, 'I'm going to bed. But listen – you room with Kai. He's the sweetest kid, but sometimes, he gets kinda...' Aoi made screwing motions around his temples, 'Kinda muddled up; kinda scared, you know? And it's best for him to be alone; he needs it that way. I know it's a drag, but if that ever happens, come down to our room.'

'Okay, I will.' Ruki smiled, pitching the butt of his cigarette out of the window, 'Thanks.'

Aoi shrugged. 'It's not for your benefit. But I like Kai, and you seem reasonably normal, and if the two of us sit on Die then we can probably stop him from compulsively doing sit-ups.'

'Is that allowed? Being in your room, I mean?'

'It's okay as long as you don't try to murder yourself – or us. Can't stress _that_ enough. But listen: if you want to stay sane here – yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds – you're gonna have to break some rules. That's just the way it is, kiddo.' He winked. 'Sweet dreams.'

Maybe it was the pills, but the funny thing was that Ruki was able to get to sleep after that.

 

_Dear E. O.—_

_I don't think anybody here is crazy._

_I know that sounds stupid, but I don't mean it in the way you think. I mean it's like staring at a painting that's wrong in some way, or looking at a patch of earth that seems still at first – the more you stare, the more you see it's alive with tiny insects and worms, moving so slowly you can hardly register them. The minute you do, though, they're_ all  _you can see. And you have to wonder how you ever thought the ground was still and stable before. But that's not just the people here: that's_ everyone _._

_And I miss you. After everything that happened I guess I shouldn't, and I'm not really sure why I do._

_Are you missing me?_

_I have your painting next to me every day,_ The Student at Work _. I remember when you first started to mentor me, and I thought you had no idea I was in love with you, and I said that the student in the painting looked quite like me, like he could actually be me. And you said 'it is you', and you put your hand on my knee. I liked you so much, I got scared. I was so stupid; I remember I stood up – I knocked the chair over – and blurted out 'you're almost old enough to be my father', and you said, 'quite nearly, yes', and you pulled me back down right onto your lap and kissed me._

_Your beard scratched me. I remember I felt like all the blood had come back into my veins. But I was sort of sad, too, and when I thought about it later, I realised it was because I didn't think I'd ever be that happy again._

_Maybe that's what's wrong with me. I spend a lot of time waiting for things to go wrong._

_I hope you miss me too, and I think you might, even after everything you said. I hope you're thinking about me in Osaka like I'm thinking about you in Kyoto. The stars are bigger here, and when I feel so scared or lost or lonely that I could scream, I imagine that you're somewhere just behind me, right over my shoulder, looking up at them with me and telling me the names of all the constellations, and what they mean, and the stories that all those ancient people told about them._

_I don't want to go home, exactly, but I do want to go back to you. I want to go back to you a year ago, before all the shit happened._

_It's not like I really wanted to kill myself, either. I just wanted to make it all stop._

 

The next day dawned dull, and the threat of rain lingered all through the morning. Breakfast was at eight, and it was as raucous an affair as dinner had been the night before. Ruki noticed, though, that the boy who had started crying the night before was not there, and when he asked about him, he got mostly shrugs.

'Shinya's normally at breakfast,' Kai explained cheerily, 'But if somebody gets sedated, you pretty much can't count on seeing them the next day. It's a pity he got like that on your first day, but it's not anything personal; I think new people just set him off a bit. You'll like him once you get to know him.'

'What did they give him?'

' _Oh_. Hm. I'd guess pentobarbital. See how it acted so quick? It really goes to town on you.'

'Pento's a drag,' Die said conversationally, and Uruha shot him a dirty look.

' _You've_ never had it.'

'Yeah, that's how I know,' Die said, his good spirits evidently undampened, 'You guys can't remember shit when you take it. That's why you need me to tell you that it's a fucking drag.'

Aoi grinned, pointing his spoon at the disgruntled-looking Uruha, 'He's got you there.'

Uruha made a face at him.

'Asshole.'

'Anyway, _you_ haven't had it in ages.'

'Because I don't act out. I'm getting out soon.' With a lofty turn of his head, Uruha offered Ruki a small smile. 'I'm going to make maps,' he said. 'I'm going to study, and be a cartographer.'

'You'd better hurry up and leave then,' Aoi said waspishly, 'Or they'll have mapped everything good already.'

'When are you getting out?' Ruki asked with interest, and Uruha's smile slipped a notch or two. He picked up his cup and took a sip of tea, traded hands and took another sip, traded hands and took another sip, twelve times in a row, not saying a word. Then, he set it down and slammed his fist against the table harshly, making all the cups and plates dance with a light ringing sound.

'Uruha,' the nurse watching said warningly.

'I _fucking_ slipped, all right?'

' _Uruha_.'

Cowed, he ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair crossly. His throat worked, and he ran his other hand through his hair; swapped hands and did it again; swapped hands and did it again. Twelve times in a row. He was twitching; one of his fists was twitching. It took less than a minute: he shot the supervising nurse a panicked, despairing look and slammed his other fist against the table, making everything rattle just like before; Kai had just been setting his his very full cup down, and tea sloshed from it as if somebody had shoved him from behind.

'Oh, _Uruha_ —'

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It had to be even!'

'No, that's it,' the nurse said briskly, 'I think you had better eat in your room today.'

The tea was steaming where it had hit the table; it had just been poured. Ruki watched Kai with hollow, troubled eyes; the scalding liquid had splashed all over the other man's wrist. The skin there had turned a livid red, but he hadn't reacted at all. He didn't even appear to have noticed.

Ruki stared at that burnt skin until his eyes glazed and he stopped seeing it. He felt a kind of deep shake, as if his foundations had been damaged and were swaying unsteadily, and he was concerned that if he did anything – twitched or moved his eyes or blinked – he would start crying and not be able to stop.

He forced himself to take deep, regular breaths, though they sounded shallow and quick in his ears. When his eyes really began to sting and tear, he gave in and rubbed at them, blotting the tears away with clumsy, shaking hands.

He became aware of that feeling – the chill prickliness that ran over the back of his neck; the feeling of being watched. Hesitantly, he raised his head, and met Kyo's dark, solid stare head-on. It was frank and unapologetic; he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was looking, and so Ruki felt reasonably comfortable to stare back at him.

It was a peculiar feeling, watching somebody in that way. It made Kyo appear more vividly coloured than everything else in the room; Ruki's eyes followed the messy, tangled tendrils of dark hair around his neck; the hollow in his throat; the smooth, sharp line of his jaw. His lips were full and looked unused to smiling; his nose straight; his eyes long and inscrutably black, with shadows underneath them the colour of bruises.

It was an interesting face. Looking at it gave Ruki the same feeling he got when he looked at certain types of artwork; cubism, expressionism, the kinds of paintings he didn't understand right away. When E. O. was in one of his more depressive moods, going through one of his heavy-drinking phases and disparaging his own work, he would have said it was the only kind of artwork worth looking at. Ruki's lips twitched in a small smile: hard and turbulent as those times had been, they seemed fond and even naïve now; E. O., playing at being the tortured artist. The smile slipped from Ruki's face, and he pressed his lips together carefully. He noticed that Kyo was no longer looking at him; he was concentrating on his tea. It seemed to Ruki, though, that the other man was smiling slightly, as if somebody had just whispered a joke in his ear.

He sometimes got the strangest feeling, like he could just jump completely out of his own skin.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

'This is a place where you can be completely honest. I want you to feel comfortable.'

Dr Kimura gestured to a long, low couch beneath the window. 'This is about you,' he said, 'And what helps you to talk. You can sit or lie down, or stand up if you prefer. It its easier for you, you're under no obligation to look at me whilst we're talking. I'm going to record you on my tape recorder here, and I might also write down a few things from time to time. Do you have any questions?'

Ruki deliberated.

'Can I smoke?'

'Certainly you can smoke.'

Uneasily, Ruki dropped himself onto the sofa and lit up a cigarette. He hesitated, perhaps trying to judge his choice of seat, wriggled a little, and finally drew his legs up onto the couch and crossed them like a kid in primary school. Kimura passed him a glass ashtray, and he settled it on the arm of the sofa carefully.

'These conversations can sometimes be difficult, Ruki, and some of the questions I ask you might have answers that make you feel sad, or angry, or ashamed. I want you to try very hard to answer all of them, though, and be perfectly truthful and honest.'

Ruki gave a lopsided shrug, which the doctor seemed to comfortably interpret as a yes.

'Very good. Why don't you start by telling me about the first time you can remember something bad happening – the first time you felt frightened, or sad, or cross?'

Ruki shot him a distrustful glance. 'Is that important?'

'Maybe. A lot of what happens to us when we're children stays with us when we're adults, even when we don't realise it.'

Ruki sighed, rubbing at his forehead awkwardly.

'I guess it'd have to be – getting lost. I mean, not really _lost_. But I was in a department store with my mother, and I wandered a little way away from her to look at something. When I turned around, she was gone.'

'How did that make you feel?'

'Scared.'

'How old were you?'

'Four, I guess, or maybe five.'

'So if I had that four or five year old in front of me, what do you think he would say about what happened?'

Ruki slid Kimura a strange look, and the doctor smiled. 'Humour me.'

'I...' Ruki studied the ash at the end of his cigarette, watching it grow more and more unstable, 'I guess he'd say that he was scared, because she left him. I mean, as a kid, you leave your parents all the time. But they're not supposed to leave you.'

'So you felt abandoned?'

'For a few minutes, I guess.'

'And how do you feel about people leaving now?'

'What?'

'Well, when people die, or relationships break up, how does it make you feel?'

Ruki gave him another look, and Kimura smiled.

'I know it seems an obvious question. Let's try this: does it make you feel sad, or does it make you feel scared?'

'Can't I feel both?'

'If you had to pick one, that you felt the strongest?'

Ruki hesitated for a long while. 'Scared, I guess,' he said at last.

The doctor nodded, as if that had been just what he'd expected him to say, and Ruki felt a small prickle of irritation. It was irresistible, like an itch that was begging to be scratched; like the aching tooth you can't stop tonguing. He stirred slightly, as if by accident, and knocked the glass ashtray onto the floor, where it broke.

He met the doctor's eyes. 'Sorry,' he said. But he knew he wasn't.

The one-to-one sessions with Kimura were supposed to take place three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, from four until five. Ruki imagined that he was the last patient of the day for Kimura; that after that, the man would settle into a nice car and drive back to his home, which would be in a suburb of Kyoto, and would be a sort of fishbowl where his wife and children swam around happily and in a state of constant forgetting.

It had been raining when he'd gone in, but it'd stopped by the time he came out, and the sky was starting to show evening colours in the gaps between the clouds. He passed the sitting room, where the doorway was actually just a doorless frame, so that the nurses could always see in; a few men were scattered about in there, like afterthoughts. At first Ruki thought that they were totally still, but then he realised that they moving very minutely; Uruha was reading a book – _The Local's Guide to Italy_ , by Takashima Hayato – and tapping his fingertips along its spine steadily; Die was lying with his head hanging upside down off the sofa, grinning toothily as he talked to Aoi, who was sitting on the floor with his legs outstretched, eating a banana that he kept waving enticingly in his friend's face.

'Quit it.' The way Die was lying caused his shirt to ride up, and his hipbones looked as sharp and flared as two wings. Even the blood rushing to his face couldn't hide how tired he looked, or how pale; still, that megawatt grin, easy as a kid's.

'I'm not doing anything,' Aoi said. 'Quit looking at me. Unless you like what you see.' He pushed the fruit inappropriately far past his lips and gave Die a decidedly lewd look. Then, he bit down, causing the redhead to break up into laughter.

'You know that's a lot more threatening than sexy, right?'

With some effort, Aoi swallowed his mouthful. 'Sure I do. You're too skinny for me to fuck in any capacity; it'd be irresponsible. When you don't eat, your muscles waste, and I'm not going to be the sexpot who explodes your heart.'

'Sounds like a shitty sci-fi film. “The sexpot who exploded my heart”.'

'Just fucking _eat_ something, twiggy.'

Ruki left them to it. The sound of their chatter was friendly, but isolating; watching them, he had the feeling he was watching a movie or a TV show.

He wondered about Aoi; about his strange life. How did he feel, being cooped up in a place like this because of his sexuality – was there anything more to it than that, and if not, how did he cope?

Just the thought of it made Ruki feel tired and sad. He wandered aimlessly further down the corridor, knowing there were thirty minutes until dinner and feeling them roll out in front of him endlessly. Time in this place did strange things; it was so long, so wide, so flat, at once still and ever changing, shifting like the ocean, breaking and reforming into wave upon wave. Like standing on a beach, and looking out at the sea, right up until it curved at the horizon and fell away into space.

Gentle, watery piano music was trickling out from under the music room door, and he found himself following it. The music room was normally a pretty popular hangout, being the home of the only record player on the ward – at least, as far as Ruki could tell – and so it was a surprise to see it almost empty. The only people in there was a nurse, absently filling in patient charts, and the patient who had been sedated at dinner last night, looking much fresher and tidier than when Ruki had last seen him; when he heard the door open, he finished the piece of music and turned, setting his hands neatly in his lap. He didn't say anything, though; he appeared to be waiting politely for Ruki to speak, his head slightly cocked, like a dog.

'Hi,' Ruki volunteered after a while; as if that had been just what he'd wanted, the other man smiled at him.

'Hello.'

 

With gentle, tidy motions, he began to gather together his sheet music and stack it neatly.

'Don't let me stop you playing.'

'Oh no; it's nothing.' The sheet music went away into a plain manilla folder, and he directed his very level, very lucid gaze at Ruki. 'What's your name?'

'It's Ruki. And you're Shinya, aren't you?'

He nodded, his hair swaying softly over his shoulders.

'I know you're new,' he said – his voice very quiet and smooth – 'I'm sorry if I scared you last night.'

'You didn't scare me.'

'That's good.' He smiled faintly. 'I find it hard to remember what happened.'

'Does it happen...often, like that?'

'No; not often.' His smile widened a little, 'You _were_ scared. I can see it in your face.'

Ruki shrugged awkwardly. 'A lot of this stuff scares me,' he admitted.

'I'm very sorry,' Shinya said, his voice almost a whisper. 'Sometimes I get headaches. And sometimes, the things I hear and see – they aren't really there. But it's hard to tell. It's like having a vivid dream that you don't wake up from. If you don't wake up, how do you know that you're dreaming?'

The nurse glanced up from her charts. 'Don't upset yourself,' she said, which Ruki thought was strange, because Shinya didn't look upset. He bit his lip, though, and lowered his head in assent.

In direct contrast to the previous night, he was exceptionally self-possessed. If he hadn't been crazy, Ruki could imagine him as a Buddhist monk, never breaking meditation, sitting in the wind and the rain without a shiver, starving slowly and reasonably to death.

'It's time for your medication,' the nurse said now, sensibly. 'Why don't you go down to the nurses' station, and make sure you take it before dinner?'

'Yes,' Shinya agreed mechanically, his voice vague. Through his hair, he glanced up, and the look in his eyes startled Ruki into taking a step back; never had he seen a single person look so trapped, or so desperately unhappy.

It scared him more than the previous night had – much more. But the next moment, that look was gone, and Shinya gave him one last gentle smile and left to take his medicine.

 

_Dear E. O.—_

 

_'It's like having a vivid dream that you don't wake up from. If you don't wake up, how do you know that you're dreaming?'_

_I met a man called Shinya today, who said that. I must be crazy, because I thought he made a lot of sense._

_If I'm sick, I'm starting to think that maybe the people here could be the cure. Not the doctors and the nurses; the other patients. Seeing somebody so sad makes all the shit that happened – art school and what you said and the bleach and the pills – seem so fucking idiotic. It seems so far away. I don't know what's the 'real world' any more, but if the real world is where you are, I know that I'm not inside of it now._

_Maybe I got further towards dying that I thought, and all of this has been one long aching nightmare, in a coma in a hospital someplace. Maybe I'm in limbo. That would make sense. That's why I'm stuck here with everybody else who wanted to die; we're being sorted into heaven and hell, it's just like a waiting room._

_I don't know what I mean. My thinking isn't organised. But seeing somebody like that, it was like he was already dead, and when you look at death that way, doing it to yourself just seems like the stupidest thing imaginable._

_What frightens me is that I have no idea how to get out of here. Can you be cured if you don't even know what's wrong with you – if the doctors don't even know; or if they won't tell you?_

_My doctor's name is Kimura. He said I could tell him anything, but how can that be true? One of the patients is here because he's a homosexual – if they can keep us here on those grounds, how could I ever tell him how I feel about men? I could never tell him a thing about you._

_The truth is that I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid of how I feel. Sometimes about you, and sometimes about men in general. When you're growing up, those feelings start out so fuzzy, so formless, compared to how razor-sharp it becomes later; I want a man to touch and love and hold; I can't help it. I want it so badly that I don't know what to do; it's too big and I'm lost inside it._

_I thought it would be you always, too, right up until you were kissing me on the forehead and saying things that didn't make sense about 'May-September relationships'._

_I don't know why I fell in love with you._

_I'm picturing the real world,_ your _world, as a tiny bright blue marble hovering and spinning in the far distance, like a sort of twinkling light, the only star in the centre of a huge dead universe._

 

Dinner that evening was quiet. Ruki didn't talk to anybody;. He picked at his food and got through the meal by making it into a series of small challenges: chew this mouthful, swallow this much, clear this section of your plate. He kept his eyes focussed straight down on the small section of table in front of him and, as if they sensed something, people mostly kept away; he was aware, a few times, of curious eyes upon him, but nobody said a word. They were all distracted anyway; Die had received a package that had morning that had finally, finally passed its content inspection, and he opened it excitedly at the table. It was a new LP, The Doors' _Morrison Hotel_ , and he admired the record gleefully: 'It only _just_ passed the content inspection,' he boasted gleefully, 'So it must be full of good stuff.'

'Man, your parents are the best,' Aoi said jealously, grabbing at it, 'Get them to send you a Bowie record next time. I want _The Man Who Sold The World_. You know what's on that?'

'What?'

'“I'd rather stay here...with all the madmen...for I'm quite content they're all as sane as me...”'

Kai clapped a hand to his mouth to disguise his sudden bark of laughter, and Die snorted loudly.

'I'm just a big mail order catalogue to you, aren't I?'

'We'll I'd ask _my_ parents, but they're withholding love and gifts until I stop sucking cock. You know?'

The two of them grinned at each other, and Ruki pushed quietly back from the table.

 

He felt funny – anaemic. Every reflective surface seemed to be full of his wan face, blank as a piece of paper; his pale lips and nose barely features, his dark eyes swimming hugely, like two black holes. It was entirely believable, presented smearily in front of him like that, that it wasn't his own face. His hands seemed small with distance, too far away from him; they appeared fine and detailed and tiny as something viewed through the wrong end of a telescope.

 _I don't belong here_ , he thought, and in a single velvety moment it happened; his mind slipped shut, tight as a clamshell.

Amazing how it happened. Just the same as the day of the explosion. It was a kind of mental blackout and he _felt_ it that time, the darkness, breaking over him like a wave would break over him.

He stumbled into the bathroom without bothering to sign in on the sheet posted outside the door, and dashed cold water over his face straight from the tap. Droplet appeared lividly all over his skin, like wax melting down a candle. He felt his body rolling loosely with febrile heat; he clamped a sweating hand over the mirror desperately.

_I don't belong here._

'Ruki! You know you shouldn't be in here without signing in. Every patient...'

The face in the mirror cracked, and he dashed his fists down hard against the sink. Pain shot straight up through his bones and a grimace-like smile passed over his face; he could feel it vibrating numbly in his bones before the orderly who had followed him in grasped him firmly from the back, attempting to pin his arms down to his sides.

'Now calm down – calm _down_ —'

'I don't belong here,' Ruki gasped, feeling the man's arms like vines around his chest, and the lack of air and the panic made him start to struggle violently, ' _I don't belong here—_ '

He spun suddenly away and fetched up against the sink and the wall, catching his face against the faucet so that he blinked stars; he was aware of shouting, _code grey, code grey_ , and of an impossibly huge scream struggling against the tight confines of his throat.

The door burst forth from its hinges, and the room was white with nurses. One grasped him by the forehead and dragged his head back; more caught his arms; one of them yanked his sleeve up. He felt the prick of a syringe and let out a sound somewhere between a yell and a sigh, savouring the tiny hurt; he could still feel himself fighting, but stiffly and disjointedly; he knew now that he was losing.

His head spun, and his legs slackened threateningly. The arm they'd shot him in felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. His eyelids dragged halfway down and he was aware of his mind defending itself fiercely; felt its corners turning themselves in and out, in and out like a cat's cradle, that playground game, he'd used to play when he was a kid...

A soft sigh slid from between his lips, and his eyes closed.

 

That was about all he knew for the next fifteen hours.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: the next chapter is written, but I'm going away for a few days. If you are following this, I haven't abandoned it. Chapter six will be up on Thursday evening!

'Why do they call it a code grey, anyway?'

'Because when they stick you with the pento, it makes your vision go all grey and cloudy.'

Theatrical sigh. 'You're a _swell_ guy, Kai, but sadly, you _are_ as dumb as you look.'

'Can you two keep it down? I've read the same sentence about sixteen times because of you.'

'Oh, shut up, Uruha. You do everything a billion times in a row anyway; what difference does it make?'

Ruki's left cheek was aching. It was pressed against something very firm and flat.

'For your _information_ , they call it a code grey because they have to call it code _something_ , and code red is already fire and code blue is already—'

'The sexual frustration code? Code blue balls? Got it, got it. I mean, sadly, I _do_ have it. Code blue over here.'

'You're disgusting, Aoi.'

Ruki frowned, and felt his brow contort against the hard surface. He thought it must be the floor, but why would he be lying on the floor? He blinked, and his eyelids felt gritty. He thought he had been asleep for a long time, and that he might have woken up a few times previously but he couldn't quite remember. It seemed that he should be able to remember, but when he tried, the knowledge slipped through his fingers and left him holding empty air.

 

'Look, he's waking up. Hello, new boy.'

Ruki blinked again, stubbornly. His vision swam and swayed. A dark shape in front of him gradually solidified; it was Aoi, and he was the right way up, peering down into Ruki's face. It dawned on Ruki slowly that he was not lying down at all but sitting slumped in a corner of a small, dim room, and that the hard thing against his cheek wasn't the floor but was instead a padded wall. He tried to panic at that, at the padding, but found he couldn't. Groggily, he tried to push himself more upright.

'Take it easy, sleeping beauty. You're coming off your first blast of pentobarbital. We're your welcoming committee. Me – remember me? – and Kai, and Uruha. Kai's _super_ glad you didn't choke on your own sick or anything, or do any major damage to yourself when you decided to go all psycho.'

'Shut up', Ruki said, but his tongue was moving slower than his brain was, and the words came out all slurred. Aoi's voice was sarcastic and loud and almost horribly clear, like a pickaxe driving into his ear.

'Hi, Ruki! Hi!' Kai bounded into Ruki's tunnel of view, almost toppling Aoi over in his clumsy eagerness, 'You haven't missed very much. You missed group therapy, of course, and you missed a movie, too, it was _The Day the Earth Stood Still_ , it was on TV, and we got to stay up late to see the ending! And we listened to Die's new record, but I don't like The Doors as much as The Beatles. Hey, what's your favourite Beatles song?'

There was a long pause whilst Ruki tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

'My favourite is _With a Little Help from my Friends_ ', Kai added helpfully.

Ruki's head felt heavy enough to keep nodding forward. He let it go. The floor was murky, his lap was murky; everything was murky. He felt sleep come and wipe him out cleanly, like chalk from a blackboard.

 

A few hours later, everything was a little clearer, and Ruki was able to stand up. He tested the feeling of his arms, hanging in space next to him, and tried to stretch out his aching back. He discovered that he'd been placed in an isolated room to sleep off the sedatives; he discovered that wasn't anything to worry about, just procedure.

It felt late in the day. The April sun was low in the sky and everything outside was gold-coloured. The wet smells of boiling vegetables, of institutional cooking, pervaded the corridor. A nurse came to help Ruki to the bathroom, where he used the toilet and brushed his teeth, and then she watched whilst he drank two whole glasses of cold tap water.

'Thirsty?' she asked.

Ruki didn't dignify that with a response, but she didn't seem to mind. Her attitude was cheerful but impersonal. He was simply a card that had been dealt to her, he could see that; just one or another boring card in an identical pack, neither more distinguishable than the last.

'Dinner will be in twenty minutes. Would you like to relax in your room in the meantime, or head on down to the TV room?'

Ruki swallowed experimentally. His throat still felt dry. 'My room, I think. If that's okay.'

He didn't really feel like talking to anybody. His mind felt woolly and thick, like it had been overstuffed with something. He couldn't see what was keeping it from simply flying apart.

'Of course that's okay. I'll take you there.'

'I don't need taking.'

'You'd be surprised. It can be very disorienting to—'

'I can find it.'

The nurse gave him a flat sort of look. 'I have to take you. It's procedure.'

'Right,' Ruki sighed, and allowed himself to be led.

'For the moment,' the nurse told him forthrightly, 'You're going to be monitored slightly more than usual, I'm afraid. We'll try not to make it too uncomfortable. But you'll need to have a nurse or an orderly with you all the time – that's what we call one-to-ones. You're not the only one; Shinya's on them for the time being, too. It's not a punishment,' she added quickly, seeing Ruki's scowl, 'But you understand that we need to make sure that you're safe.'

'Sure,' Ruki agreed tonelessly. The corridors looked very dull. Most of the bedroom doors were standing open; inside the rooms were empty. The perfectly made up beds had the look of mortuary slabs, flat and featureless with their identical grey blankets. Ruki felt a kind of shiver in his bones, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. He was concentrating so hard on his feet that he almost walked into somebody, and when he jerked backwards, he was surprised to discover that he didn't have to raise his head very much; the person was almost exactly on his eye level. It was Kyo, and the look he gave Ruki was an uncomfortable one; it was a look that told Ruki Kyo knew exactly how close he had been to crying.

At the same time, a strange sort of buzzing sensation ran over his skin. It wasn't unpleasant; it was light, almost cool-feeling, as if a breeze had passed over him; it was the feeling of being more present than usual – his skin more sensitive, his feet more solid on the ground. It was the feeling of being seen, different from being watched. Kyo's hands were down by his sides, and Ruki felt the most peculiar urge to grab one of them, to forge some sort of connection just to pass the feeling on; just to get somebody else to acknowledge it, so he'd know he wasn't mad. Kyo looked away from him, pushed past to get into his own bedroom, and Ruki balled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. He hoped Kai wouldn't be in his room. He wanted to close the door against everybody – except, of course, he couldn't.

One-to-ones, of course.

 

_Dear E. O.—_

_Something happened today._

_The context is that I suppose I was coming around from being sedated, but I don't want to get into that. Even though I'm never going to send you these letters, I still don't want to bore you with loads of detail. You always said that was the problem with my work, that I was too focussed on the details and technicalities, and that I still needed to step back and take in the whole picture. 'We're still trying to make a beautiful image, Ruki.' Of course, you're a famous artist, so I didn't question it. But I like details. Maybe you should include more detail in YOUR work._

_You're welcome for the constructive criticism._

_Everyone here is fucking crazy._

_The strange thing that happened was that I had this weird encounter with another one of the patients here. I don't exactly know what was weird about it; just that it made me feel strange. I suppose everyone in places like this ends up talking about their feelings far too much, but it wasn't a feeling I've ever had before in my life. Anyway, it made me think of you, because I think I must have looked at you about a hundred times and thought that I was really seeing you, the real you, the one that nobody else got to see. It's not anything to do with seeing a person naked. It's more like their spirit is naked._

_For me it felt like being super exposed, like I couldn't close my eyes. Can you imagine how vulnerable that would make you feel, and how raw and painful, not being able to close your eyes? I don't know if_

 

He was interrupted by the nurse announcing it was five thirty; time for dinner. He shut his notebook with a snap, feeling surprisingly hungry; he supposed he hadn't eaten in a long while. His stomach had a strange feeling though, sickish from the sedatives, and the world shifted queasily around him as he got to his feet.

He cast a longing look back at his notebook and felt a surge of unhappiness like a punch in the stomach: he missed E. O. It shouldn't have been a surprise – their relationship had been turbulent, yes, but also wildly happy in its moments, and it had spanned two whole years – but the physicality of the sensation was a shock; Ruki hadn't known it would feel so much like a wave crashing into him. Longing, fierce and pure, burned in the pit of his stomach, and strangely enough, he didn't so much wish that he was with E. O., but that E. O. could be here with him.

As if he could have been the slightest bit of use.

 

Ruki dragged his feet down the corridor to dinner, dogged by the nurse, who peeled off at the doorway to the dining hall; there were already staff to cover dinner time. Inside it was as noisy as ever around the table, and most of the seats were taken: the only free ones were next to Shinya and between Uruha and Die. Ruki felt more like sitting with Shinya – the other man was quiet, at least, and wouldn't be likely to interrupt the buzzing in Ruki's head with bursts of his own wild static – but Shinya was placed opposite Kyo, and Ruki wasn't sure if he felt quite comfortable with that. He wasn't ready for his whole body to feel that hyper-sensitive again; he would much prefer to disappear. Quietly, he dropped into the seat between Die and Uruha.

'Newbie,' the redhead hailed him. Uruha ignored him entirely, his attention completely hooked into a book – _The Local's Guide to England_ , today – and the fingers of his free hand flexing gently on the tabletop, over and over. The food wasn't here yet, but the smell of it was heavy in the air. Ruki turned to Die, and was momentarily surprised to see the redhead wearing some other expression than his ever-present, sunlit grin; his eyes were looking into empty space, and his face was a mask of pure apprehension. There was tension in his body, as well, pushing the veins and tendons to the surface of his poor, thin arms. The change was alarming, as if along with his smile Die had also taken off some kind of disguise, and as Ruki looked at his body – the jut of bones beneath his papery skin; the dark circles beneath his eyes; the way his cheekbones seemed to cut his face into quarters – he realised that he was looking at somebody who was different to him: Die was sick. He might even be dying, and if he was dying, it was because he was starving to death, and the only difference between him and those huge-eyed West African kids you saw on the news was that Die ostensibly had some choice about it.

There was a nurse sat on Die's other side, a balding man with a round sort of face. The food started to arrive on brown plastic trays delivered over their shoulders – a bowl of what looked like mixed meat and greens, a medium-sized bowl of steamed rice with a poached egg on top, the smallest bowl full of miso – and Ruki's stomach flipped over, both hungry and nauseated. Across the table, Kai met his eye.

'Eat slowly,' he advised brightly. 'And make sure you chew everything up. Otherwise you'll puke everywhere.'

'Yeah,' Aoi interjected, 'And puking after a meal is Die's job.' The nurse shot him an angry look, but the grin had returned to Die's face.

'Asshole,' he said cheerfully, making no move to touch his food. There was just a slight mania in his eyes; just a slight grimness to the set of his smile. Ruki supposed the others could see it too, because their faces seemed to soften.

'Just don't think about it, okay?' Aoi said more quietly. 'Just think of it as moving something from one place to another. It doesn't get any bigger; the spaces don't change. Boxes don't get smaller because they're empty. Cupboards don't get any bigger because they're full.'

Die snorted. 'Work real hard in your exams and talk bullshit like that, and you could get to be...a _therapist_.'

'First mouthful, please, Die,' the nurse said, his voice low and steady: a warning to Aoi. 'Come on. Let's get going.'

On Ruki's other side, Uruha nudged him.

'This is Die's last chance,' he said into Ruki's ear. 'They already took away his own clothes and took away his grounds privileges. If he doesn't eat, they get to force feed him.' A brief spasm of irritation crossed Uruha's face, and with a flinchlike little movement he nudged Ruki again, and again, and again – twelve times, whilst his face remained fixed and focussed. 'Sorry', he said rudely. Ruki gave a shrug that he hoped would appear neutral.

'Don't mind him,' Aoi said. 'He's the craziest one in here, aren't you, Uru? See, Uruha has to nudge you a million times in a row because if he doesn't, then his house will burn down. Right?' Busy now arranging his food into symmetrical patterns, Uruha contented himself with shooting Aoi a filthy look.

'You're so mean,' Kai said absently, lifting a long sliver of meat from his bowl and allowing the broth to drip from it.

'I'm not _mean_ ,' Aoi said. 'Hey, all you need is love, all right? Peace? Peace?'

Kai's face brightened immeasurably. 'There's nothing you can _do_ that can't be _done_ ,' he carolled happily, his voice rising above the sound of chatter and cutlery scraping bowls, and the nurse next to Die reached over and touched Kai's wrist lightly.

'Little too loud,' he said, but kindly.

'There's nothing you can _sing_ that can't be _sung_ —'

'Kai!'

'There's nothing you can _say_ but you can learn how to play the game...'

More people were singing now. Kai was still carrying on, joyfully, but Aoi had joined him with a glint in his eye, and as Ruki listened Die gratefully put down his chopsticks and added his voice to the choir: 'It's _ea-syyy_!'

'Boys – guys! Voices down!'

Ruki had the impression of reaching down inside himself for a larger voice than he'd taken to owning these days. He took a deep breath, and: 'Nothing you can _make_ that can't be _made_.'

Aoi's face split into a wide grin.

'No one you can _save_ that can't be _saved_ —'

'Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time—'

'IT'S _EA-SYYY_!' '

All you need is love!' Kai trumpeted, 'All you need is love! All you need is love—'

Kai got pulled out of his chair, and most of the singing tore off in straggles. The room fell silent, and most of the eyes in the room swivelled back down to look at their trays. Kai had quieted, but was standing with a mostly expressionless face and a demeanour that suggested the hand on his upper arm was the only thing keeping him aloft. It belonged to somebody that Ruki could immediately tell was more senior than the nurses – this man seemed to radiate a great deal of authority, though at least it was a calm authority.

'All you need is love!' Kai said again suddenly, 'All you need is love!'

'Now, Kai. All right, Kai.'

'All you need is – love – all you need—'

'Come on, now, Kai. Let's sit down and eat our dinner quietly, all right? It's not time to sing right now, but when dinner time is over, if you're good for the nurses and take your medicine, we can put your song on the record player. How would that be?'

Kai's singing broke off raggedly, and he looked uncertainly around the table.

'That's right. How about sitting down?' Still looking confused, Kai dropped like a stone into his chair. Carefully, the nurse or doctor or whatever he was removed his hand from Kai's shoulder, and stepped back: after a still moment, Kai picked up his chopsticks and began to eat, and the man gave an abbreviated smile to the round-faced nurse and left the room. There was an uncomfortable silence in his wake, which Ruki hated.

'Who was that?' he asked lamely, trying to fill it.

'Him?' Die said. 'One of the therapists. Dr Sato. He's all right.'

'Less talking and more eating, please, Die.' The redhead closed his eyes briefly, and Ruki suddenly noticed something: Die's pocket, the one on Ruki's side, had been empty before they'd sat down to the meal. Now, it was stuffed full with rice from Die's bowl.

 

The young men finished their meal with no more episodes or eruptions, and after they'd taken their evening medication – nothing for Ruki yet – they had gone into the music room, where The Beatles had been put on the record player as promised. Ruki walked past the open door and saw that Kai and Aoi were dancing wildly in there, that Die's one-to-one nurse was sitting on a chair whilst the redhead himself lay flopped on the floor, an easy smile on his face but an exhausted sort of look in his eyes. He had one leg crossed over the other, and he was jiggling it agitatedly. On another chair, Uruha was watching the dancers and tugging on his earlobe, and Aoi kept trying to entice him to his feet, and the nurse kept telling Aoi to leave him alone...

The whole scene made Ruki feel very small and tired. He didn't want to go and just sit in his room with his nurse – a different one from earlier, this one a very slight young woman with permed hair – and so he made his way to the TV room instead, which had the benefit of being almost empty at this hour. Shinya sat in a broken-down looking winged armchair, reading a thick book at what seemed to be an unfeasible speed – he was marking his sentence with his finger and his finger glided smoothly, uninterrupted, down the page – and nodding along absently to the faint music coming from down the hallway. Nobody else seemed to be around, but a thin column of cigarette smoke was rising from the sofa, and when Ruki walked a little further into the room he saw that Kyo was there, stretched out full on his back on the cushions and frowning slightly at the ceiling.

A strange fluttery feeling went through Ruki's body, a sort of dizzy jolting feeling, as if he'd been walking downstairs and had missed a step. Awkwardly, he raised a hand in greeting.

'Hello.' The TV was on, but neither man seemed to be watching it. Kyo sat up, a weary expression on his face, and shifted back so his spine was pressed against the arm of the sofa and Ruki had room to sit down. Down the corridor, there was a very distant click and hiss as the record was changed. A few moments later, after a lot of murmury-sounding back-and-forth discussion, there was another click and the hissing stopped and The Beach Boys started in with _Wouldn't It Be Nice_.

'I heard you tried to kill yourself,' Kyo said finally.

'I heard you've been here longer than anybody,' Ruki countered, sounding braver than he felt; a slight flicker of a smile crossed Kyo's face.

'Correct. Yours?'

'I don't know. I...I don't know. I didn't want to kill myself.'

'No?'

'No.' Ruki swallowed. 'I just – wanted everything to stop. I'm not _crazy_.'

Kyo raised an eyebrow. 'Nor are we.'

Involuntarily, Ruki's eyes flicked towards Shinya, and Kyo gave a strange dry bark of a laugh. When he spoke, though, his voice was humourless: 'Shinya isn't crazy.'

Carefully, Shinya marked his place and looked up from his book. 'It's true,' he agreed in his quiet, level voice. 'I'm not, at least not all the time. I suppose you saw me for the first time on a bad day, but the bad days aren't all that regular. The new drugs are better. If it wasn't for the bad days, I wouldn't have to live here.' He gave Ruki a small smile. 'Maybe that's hard to believe, but it's really true. I've never tried to hurt myself, or anybody else. But once I had a dream that inside I was full of wires and receptors and microphones, you see. And it didn't stop.' He gave his pretty head a slight shake.

Unsure what to say to this strange pronouncement, Ruki contented himself with nodding his head. The strangeness of the two people in front of him made him miss E. O. so much it seemed to ache. He couldn't imagine how wonderful it would be to be with somebody who was predictable, even if he sulked predictably and kissed predictably and initiated sex predictably; always the same rote moves; the same lapses into moody silence – even the artistic tantrums predictable, the tipping over of an easel predictable; never done with quite enough force to actually damage the frame or, god forbid, the canvas. And, yes, after they slept together he would lie in bed predictably, with the sheets shoved down to his waist because he was proud of how his chest and stomach looked and wanted Ruki to appreciate them. And he would light a cigarette, and he would watch himself in the mirror as he smoked it, and his eyes would meet Ruki's that way – both of them looking at his smoky, foggy reflection.

 

_Hi again, E. O. I can't remember what I was writing earlier. I put 'I don't know if' and then I stopped. I don't know anything. I miss you._


	6. Chapter 6

****When Ruki woke up the next morning, he felt panicky before he even had his eyes fully open. It was the smell of the place, the smell of medicine and of locked doors, of radiator dust with the eye-watering undercurrent of disinfectant; of ammonia and acid-based scourers, powdery as pills.

Kai was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his pocket radio in his hands, and he was watching it like a television and singing along to _Like a Rolling Stone_.

'How does it _feeeeel_ ,' he warbled, blissfully off key, 'To be without a home...like a complete unknown...you've been asleep for ages, Ruki. It'll be breakfast soon.'

Ruki rubbed his sticky eyes clumsily. 'Yeah?' he said thickly.

'Uh huh. It's seven thirty-two. Breakfast is at eight.'

'What time do you normally wake up?' Ruki mumbled. He wasn't a morning person. Every day when he woke up he felt he could feel sleep trying to suck him back down, as if he was trying to wade his way out of quicksand.

'Five,' Kai answered nonchalantly. He glanced up from his radio and grinned. 'You should have come to our dance party last night. We had so much fun!'

'Uh huh,' Ruki said groggily.

'We listened to _Magical Mystery Tour_ and then we had _Pet Sounds_ and then _Aretha Now_. Die has _so_ many records!'

'Die has Aretha Franklin records?'

'Die has _every_ record,' Kai said, his eyes wide with good-natured envy. Wearily, Ruki pulled himself upright. The light coming in from the window was gloomy, and small hard raindrops were beginning to peck at the glass. He rubbed a hand over his face roughly.

'I don't really eat breakfast, normally,' he said.

'Well, you have to eat breakfast here.'

Instead of answering, Ruki slid carefully out of bed. The floor was cool against his bare feet.

'Hey, Ruki,' Kai said, bouncing to his own feet, 'You know why Die has so many records?'

The door opened with a polite click; a nurse popped her head around the door and noted that both men were awake. She gave them a small smile.

'Breakfast in half an hour. Ruki, your doctor has lifted your one-to-one for now; he's worried it's stopping you from mingling with our therapeutic community.'

'Who _is_ my doc—'

'Don't forget to get dressed before breakfast,' she said lightly over the top of him, and shut the door with a snap behind her.

'It's because his parents think that if they buy him a lot of records, he'll be happy, and he'll stop making himself throw up,' Kai said matter-of-factly, as if they'd never been interrupted.

'Uh huh,' Ruki said weakly. 'Does it work?'

Kai smiled and gave an energetic shake of his head.

 

Breakfast was reasonably uneventful that morning; the atmosphere wasn't quite as raucous as it had been at other meals. Ruki found himself sat next to Uruha again, who ate in a fraught and jumpy sort of silence and made a lot of light, twitchy motions, a small frown on his face and his eyes very focussed. Kai hummed _Like a Rolling Stone_ under his breath. Die alternated between joking with Aoi and dissecting his meal, removing the fried egg from on top of the rice and pushing the natto to the outer edges of his bowl, taking wincing little mouthfuls only when his nurse – a fattish young man, today – prompted him to. Ruki watched Die as Die watched the nurse; although the redhead gave the impression of nonchalance, his observation was sharp as razor wire; as soon as his nurse's attention lapsed – say he got distracted by another nurse saying something, or by something out of the window – whole fistfuls of Die's food would disappear under the table. It made Ruki feel edgy and tired just to watch, and he found himself almost deflating with relief when Aoi stepped in.

'Excuse me,' he said in an acid voice, 'Die's got half his breakfast in his _pockets_ , just so you know.'

Die rounded on him, but Aoi just shook his head tiredly. 'I'm not going to let you kill yourself,' he said in a toneless voice, 'I don't care if it makes me a nark.'

The redhead lapsed into a frosty silence, twiglike arms folded over his chest, but he didn't force the issue: Ruki guessed this might have been an argument that had occurred many times before. Nobody around the table appeared particularly moved by it. Uruha gave a great flinch and knocked rhythmically on his forehead with his fingers, whispering inaudibly. Kai mashed stray crystals of salt together with his thumb and hummed _Night Time is the Right Time_ as he swayed gently side-to-side in his chair.

 

After breakfast was a block of time Ruki was sincerely dreading: group therapy. Since he'd managed to be absent, sleeping off his sedation during the last session, he felt very lost and uncertain as he was herded along with the rest of the men into the TV room, and he stood uncomfortably to one side as everybody else started moving the furniture around, shoving the sofa and chairs into a roughly circular arrangement. The TV was switched off, for once – it usually remained on whether anybody was watching it or not – and Kai was sent to put his pocket radio back in his bedroom.

 _I wish you were here, E. O._ , Ruki thought wildly, but curled himself up on a corner of the sofa, huddled right up against the arm. Die draped his skinny frame over an armchair and rolled his shadowed eyes when Aoi chose a seat clear across the room, next to Uruha, who crossed his legs and uncrossed them, crossed his legs and uncrossed them. Shinya trickled into a chair like a thin current of water. For some reason Ruki couldn't explain, Kyo sat down next to him on the sofa. It was a wide sofa, a three-seater, but Kyo had plopped himself straight down in the middle. Ruki wondered if that was his normal seat, a sort of unwritten rule, and if he was maybe annoyed that Ruki was sitting there too. They weren't touching, but Ruki could feel the difference in him being there; it was as if they made a different kind of air between them, thinner than normal air.

 

When at last they were all assembled, there was a synchronised flurry of cigarette packets and lighters clicking. Ruki had left his in his bedroom; he felt too diseased to smoke. He could easily imagine that he was a great grey rotting lung already. He felt faintly sick.

'Well, gentlemen.'

The group therapist was an angular, unluxurious looking woman in her early fifties who wore earrings that looked as though they might have been crafted by children out of clay. Her body was lean and full of knobs of collarbone and elbow; no way she folded herself into her chair – the one blocking the view of the dead TV from the room – looked right. Her voice was good, though: smooth and melodic. 'As I'm sure you've noticed,' she said, 'Our newest inmate is joining us for the first time today, and so I thought this would be a good opportunity to revisit some of the ground rules of our group therapy discussions. Yes?' Her gaze travelled around the room, landing on Ruki. 'Briefly,' she explained, apparently addressing him, 'This circle is to be a safe place for all of us. That means no bullying behaviour, accusatory or inflammatory comments, or vulgarity. I would ask you to use your own common sense when deciding what might be considered _vulgarity_.' She eyed him beadily. 'Secondly, we ask everybody in this circle to refrain from interrupting each other. It is _my_ job to mediate the group if it seems one participant is monopolising the discussing. Additionally, we try to steer clear from offering overt _advice,_ as such, in these sessions, or from condemning the actions of others. If you feel unsure, try to stick to “I feel” statements. Finally, I needn't remind _any_ of you of the importance of honesty in our talks. You do not need to participate if you don't want to – though we very much encourage you to do so – but

when you do participate, it _must be honest_. Otherwise, you are cheating not only yourselves, but your friends as well.'

 

She sat back then and offered the group an unlipsticked smile; her lips were a dry beige colour. 'Would anybody like to start us off?' she added decorously.

There was something of an awkward silence. Cigarettes were puffed on; ash was tapped into ashtrays or straight onto the floor. Shinya and Ruki were the only ones not smoking, and although he still felt sick Ruki began to regret it. He wanted a cigarette just to have something to do with his hands, which felt lifeless as two limp fish, clasped on top of his knees. His gaze found the window. The clouds were beginning to clear; the sky showed chips of blue, so bright they made his eyes water.

What would he be doing right now, if nothing had changed – if he hadn't been kicked out of school and if E. O. had never broken things off with him?

He might not even have been awake at nine o'clock in the morning. If he was, it would be because he'd been up all night, and he would be wrapped up in a bed sheet beside his mentor, smoking idly and looking out at the white sky beyond the tops of the buildings; from E. O.'s place the sky always seemed to look white. Greyish skeins of clouds would scud along it inconsequentially, like rolling scenery in an old film. He would be naked from the waist down but wearing a jumper on top, because E. O. kept the place cold; just one of his little eccentricities. E. O. would be awake and clutching a cup of black coffee, and depending on his mood and on how recently they'd fucked, he would be ranting about how the young love he got from Ruki was injecting some fucking _sex_ into his work; how it made him want to paint spread legs and parted lips into his sedate landscapes. He would be wearing one of his black sweaters and the little round tortoiseshell glasses that might or might not have been prescription, and his shoulder-length hair would be windblown and messy, as usual. And Ruki would be huddled on the bed, maybe nursing a hangover or maybe not, starving hungry but unwilling to say anything to remind his mentor that he did such uncouth things as eating.

He remembered E. O. taking him by the hair and saying very seriously into his face, _you're so beautiful I could eat you_. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a little hint of arousal flicker and die in his belly.

They would have spent the morning together, and then E. O. would have gone to his studio. Depending on the day he would either have insisted Ruki come with him, or else cut the younger man loose. On the loose days, Ruki felt like he stumbled around the city in a daze, counting his steps and the number of seconds it took him to walk between buildings. And he would feel purged and empty, hungry still, cold in the wind, scarf flying around his face...and he would feel thirsty and clean and dry-mouthed, and maybe he would wander around until nightfall and then show up at the studio uninvited, something E. O. hated. Get down on his knees in front of his mentor, say _fuck me, please, please fuck me._

It was humiliating – at times it had been so humiliating that Ruki had thought he wouldn't be able to stand it any more; he had felt like he was watching himself from the outside, doing and saying all these things, and thought _what are you doing, how can you be so shameless?_

But those times had still been the best times. And Ruki missed them.

 

'I feel,' Uruha was saying edgily, 'A lot of hostility on visiting days. Against me _and_ my parents.'

The doctor was making notes as he spoke. Ruki wondered how Uruha could stand that.

'Why do you think that is?' she asked.

'I think people are _jealous_ because _their_ parents can't or won't visit them,' said Uruha delicately, 'And they take it out on me.'

'Would anybody like to comment on that?' the doctor asked, but Aoi's hand had shot into the air before she could even get the words out.

'Well, I'm not jealous,' he said bluntly. 'I just think your dad is a creep.'

'My dad is _not_ a _creep_!' Uruha flared back, tapping his index and middle fingers agitatedly against his jaw, rocking quickly and shortly back-and-forth from the waist, 'And you _are_ jealous, because my parents love me and yours can't _stand_ you.'

Aoi opened his mouth as if he was about to shoot something vitriolic back, but seemed to catch himself and contented himself with an expressive eyeroll. 'Whatever,' he said simply.

'Aoi,' the doctor said patiently, 'Do you also feel that your parents aren't fond of you?'

'They dumped me _here_ , didn't they?'

'Do you think that you'd find Uruha's relationship with his parents less of a distraction if you had a better relationship with your own family?'

Aoi exhaled noisily through his nose. 'No,' he said flatly, 'I don't. And I don't have any problem with Uruha's _mother_. I just think his father...' Aoi leant forward in his seat, taking a deep drag of his cigarette so his next, carefully-chosen words were delivered in amongst clouds of bluish smoke, 'Is _very probably_ a kiddie-fiddler.'

' _Aoi_ —!' the doctor started as Uruha started out of his chair, 'Uruha, sit _down_. Aoi, I think if you calm down and think about it, you'll see that you want to apologise to Uruha for that remark, and to the group for breaking our vulgarity rule.'

Aoi threw himself back in his chair, puffing on his cigarette irritably. 'Sorry', he said roughly.

' _Properly_.'

A muscle twitched in Aoi's jaw. 'Sorry,' he said in a softer voice.

'Will you accept Aoi's apology?'

'Whatever,' Uruha said angrily, 'I _know_ he's just jealous.'

'Thank you, gentlemen. I know this is something you might want to discuss more civilly later, but I do think you should feel proud of yourselves for reaching a temporary resolution _amicably_.' She made a small note in her pad. 'Now, Uruha. Is there anybody else who you feel is reacting negatively to your parents' visits?'

'I don't like Uruha's dad,' Kai piped up happily, and Uruha shot him a withering glance.

'You've never even _met_ my parents. You don't even know what _day_ it is. You'd eat _shit_ if somebody told you it was chocolate.'

'So everyone who hates your dad is jealous or stupid, right?' Aoi said sardonically.

'I'm not stupid!'

'No, you're not stupid. You're _crazy_. You're a fucking nutcase.'

'Kai isn't crazy,' interjected Die fairly, 'He's just...' he faltered. Kai bounced a little in his seat as he turned to face Die, politely curious to hear what he was.

'I think,' the doctor interrupted in her musical voice, 'we're getting a little off this topic, and I must say that I'm disappointed in you all for resorting to personal attacks. Let's stop our discussion for a few minutes, and just do a little deep breathing together, shall we? Gentlemen? Deep breath in, and hold for one...two...three...'

Fuck, thought Ruki. I've got to get out of here.

 

After group therapy, the men split up again and drifted apart in their small groups. Kai grew morose and clambered back into bed in his jeans and sweatshirt, ignoring or else not hearing conversation and clutching tightly to his pocket radio. It was playing _Play With Fire_ by The Rolling Stones, and the melancholy sound followed Ruki out into the corridor even after he closed the door behind him, meandering and sweet. Uruha's door was closed, too, an almost visible frost of anger emanating from it, and Die and Aoi's room seemed to be a no-go area too: only Aoi was in there, smoking moodily and reading a magazine. Die was missing, but Ruki could hear noise from the music room down the corridor – _Morrison Hotel_ , Die's newest album – so he assumed the other man was in there. The air seemed vaguely blue from smoke, and Ruki stuck a cigarette between his own lips as he inserted himself carefully into one of the three wood and glass phone booths that lined the hallway just in front of the nurses' station – quiet at this time of day, since medications wouldn't be doled out until after dinner. Only one woman was on duty; Ruki recognised her as the one with the perm.

'Can I...?' he gestured awkwardly towards the phones, and she gave a single nod.

'Local call?'

Ruki bit his lip. 'No. Osaka.'

'Your parents?'

'A friend.'

'Try to call your parents sometimes. They'll be missing you. Head on in, dial your number and I'll connect you.'

Ruki gave her a stiff nod and shut the glass door of the booth behind him. It wasn't fooling a soul – he could still hear Die's music just as clearly, and he imagined his voice would be equally as audible outside of the booth as it was inside – but it _felt_ like something; like a small and comforting place to curl up, a door he could shut and be alone behind. Propping the phone between his shoulder and ear, he shook another cigarette out of his pack to have it ready and, before he could lose his nerve, started to dial, taking comfort from the familiar sound of the rotary piece whirring back into place; how many times had he dialled this number? He knew the sound of it by heart. There was a pause then – a kind of dim switchboard buzzing – and then the connection was made, and after a loaded pause Ruki heard ringing. Two rings, then three. Four. Five. Six. Ruki bit down on the filter of his cigarette anxiously. Seven rings. Eight—

'Yes?'

The voice on the other end was clipped and impatient, and Ruki's mind immediately went entirely blank.

'Yes? Hello? Yes? Can you hear me?'

Ruki heard the snap of a lighter on the other end, and a vigorous exhale of smoke.

'Is that you, Kaito?' the voice said next, lower now and more gentle, 'Because you know you can't call me here.'

'It's me,' Ruki blurted out, feeling his tongue suddenly unstick itself from the roof of his dry mouth. There was an awful pause, and he lit his second cigarette.

'Ruki,' the voice on the other end said, as if trying it out. 'Well. Well, hi. What do you want?'

'Who's Kaito?' Ruki asked. His voice was calm, but he noticed that his teeth were chattering, and there was a feeling in his chest like a huge scream was lodged there, inflating slowly like a balloon.

'Ruki, come on. Let's not get into that. You're only going to get upset.'

'Is he another _student_?' Ruki asked.

'Ruki. Calm down, or I'm going to hang up. We're not going to talk about this.'

Slowly, carefully, Ruki leant back against the wall. His vision was blurry, and he didn't trust his voice not to waver out of control when he spoke; his throat felt horribly tight.

'Okay,' he whispered.

'Okay. Good. So. I haven't seen you around campus recently. Are you avoiding me?'

'I got kicked out,' Ruki mumbled. There was a painful pause.

'Oh.' Another pause. 'Did you – I mean – did you say anything? About us?'

'Don't worry. You're safe.'

'You didn't say anything?'

'No,' Ruki sighed, 'No, I didn't.' He blotted his cheeks with the back of his hand, feeling weak and trembly.

'Okay, good. I mean, good. You know it would be worse for you than for me anyway.' There was a rattly sigh from the other end of the phone, 'I mean, shit, I don't want to be like this. I don't want to _say_ shit like this. But you know, if you did tell – it could ruin your life, you know that.'

'Right. I know.'

'Okay. I mean, I'm not saying _I_ would ruin your – you know, or anything. I just don't want you to get yourself into something that you can't get yourself out of. You're very young, Ruki, okay? Sometimes you don't exactly know how the world works.'

'Right,' Ruki said again, quietly.

'So, anyway. Why were you calling?'

'Oh. Just...' Ruki looked desperately around the phone booth, his eyes held very wide, 'Just – nothing really. I just...I miss you.'

'Ruki. That's sweet. Thanks.'

'Do you miss me?'

A pause. 'Sure.'

Ruki gave a sad snort of a laugh. 'No you don't.'

He waited for a denial that didn't come. Very gently, he hung up the phone.

 

He wasn't sure how long he sat in the phone booth, smoking; it might have been ten minutes or half an hour. The nurse with the perm looked up at him every now and again, but she seemed to just be marking his spot; she didn't tell him to come out or ask why he was just sitting in there. He smoked two more cigarettes, trying to get his breathing back to normal, and then waited until she turned around and busied herself with something before letting himself out and taking off down the hallway, hardly looking where he was going, or _knowing_ where he was going, either; his own room was out, the TV room was out, the music room was out—

He was so preoccupied he didn't notice the two legs lying motionless in his path; he tripped over them and hit the ground, hard. It was the kind of jolt that knocked the thoughts momentarily out of his head and the air from his lungs; he lay sprawled, stunned, for a long moment before pulling himself up onto his knees.

'I didn't mean to trip you.'

Ruki turned, and found Kyo surveying him levelly, a paperback novel in his lap and a lit cigarette smouldering between his fingers.

'Why are you—?'

'Shinya wanted some space.' He shrugged. 'Everybody needs privacy.'

'You...' Ruki felt a stinging in his lip and realised he'd bitten it. A droplet of warm blood rolled halfway down his chin, and he wiped it away impatiently. 'You room with Shinya?'

'Yes. Are you all right?'

'It's fine. It'll stop bleeding in a minute.'

'Not that; you. You've been crying.'

Ruki didn't quite know what to say to that; he felt embarrassed. He shrugged disjointedly.

'Who was on the phone?'

'None of your business.'

Kyo shrugged. 'Correct.'

Ruki sat back on his heels, unsure what to do. Now that the shock of his fall was over, the shakes were back; he could feel some distant mountain winter rattling his bones and banging his teeth together. There was a tense burning in his throat again; he turned his head away angrily.

'What are you reading,' he said brusquely, not bothering to add a question mark. Kyo held up his book, but Ruki couldn't seem to pull the title from it; he felt too muddled, some relationship between his eyes and his brain had stopped working; the cover might as well have been a mush of oatmeal for all it meant to him.

'Any good?' he asked, swiping his hands vigorously over his cheeks.

'No. I've read it before.'

'Yeah?'

'Seventy-eight times.'

Ruki raised his eyebrows, and Kyo looked back at him flatly. 'There aren't many books here.'

'Can't your family send you some more?'

'Not an option.'

'You don't speak to your family?'

'It'd be a pretty one-sided conversation.'

Ruki nodded. His lip was still bleeding; he could taste blood and his chin felt sticky.

'You need to press it.'

'Press—?'

'Put pressure on it. It'll stop the bleeding.' Kyo sighed, leant forwards and took Ruki's face in his hand, pressing down firmly on his lower lip with his thumb.

Something like a minor electric current seemed to travel from Ruki's lip down into his stomach; he was aware of growing very still, and swallowed anxiously.

'It's okay—'

'Keep still,' Kyo said carelessly. He looked bored; he stifled a yawn. His eyes were resting steadily on Ruki's face, but not like he was gazing at it; it was more like that was where his eyes had happened to end up.

Ruki wondered if he was on some kind of medication. He supposed almost everybody was. He found it awkward sitting there, unable to talk and with Kyo in equal silence, but evidently the other man was comfortable with it.

A few long minutes past, and when Kyo finally removed his thumb, Ruki gave a twitchlike nod and clambered gauchely to his feet.

'Thanks,' he said, brushing himself off. His body hurt where it'd hit the floor; he still felt cold. Kyo shrugged acceptance.

'You know on the phone?' he said.

'Yeah? What?'

Kyo sighed and picked his book back up. 'Your boyfriend sounds like a real dick,' he said.

Ruki bit down on his lip, and it started bleeding again.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner that night started out as a subdued affair. Kai didn't appear; he had vanished completely under the covers, and from inside his little nest his radio played on: The Beach Boys were warbling _Good Vibrations_ when Ruki tentatively approached the lump in the bed and gave a gentle shake to what he'd thought was probably Kai's shoulder.

'Are you coming?' he'd asked, but his only answer had been a dense silence and the sound of the radio, so he'd left it. He didn't know what would happen – he didn't know if it was permissible for Kai to skip meals or not – and so he felt a little keyed up as he slipped inside the dining room. The table looked even more sporadically taken up than normal; almost everybody had empty seats next to them. After a quick glance at Kyo, Ruki quickly pulled out the seat next to Aoi and sat down; he was feeling stupidly shy of the other man.

 

Dinner was fish with rice and broth and green vegetables. Ruki ate quietly. Opposite him, Die didn't pick up his chopsticks but instead lounged back in his chair insolently, his arms folded over his bony chest. Aoi rubbed his hands over his face wearily.

'You have to eat,' he said in a dead voice.

'Fuck you.'

'Sure. You still have to eat.'

' _Fuck_ you. You're not my fucking doctor, Aoi, all right? You're just another fucked-up patient, so butt out.'

'I'm a “ _patient”_ ,' Aoi repeated quietly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, 'You don't think I'm just a little bit different from you?'

'No, I don't,' Die said flatly, rocking back on his chair, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

'Sure. Sure, I'm _just_ like you. Only, one small difference – I'm not sick. I'm not. And you are. And you know it. And if you don't eat you will actually die, right, and I don't want you to die, so will you do me one small _fucking_ favour and just put some food in your damn mouth?'

Die's one-to-one nurse cleared her throat, and both men turned away from each other obediently. Aoi started eating, chewing each mouthful angrily, and Die toyed with his chopsticks and aligned his bowls so they were all precisely lined up on his tray, little to large.

'Aoi—' Die said hesitantly, and the other man gave his head an angry shake.

' _Please_ don't die,' he said, his voice almost inaudible but clearly furious. Die looked down at his food and shook his head, his long fingers almost as thin as his chopsticks, wound awkwardly around them like vines.

'Sorry,' he said softly. Aoi gave his head an incredulous shake, but a moment later, under the guise of leaning down to better eat his rice, he nudged his head briefly against Die's shoulder.

'It's so fucking annoying when you say shit like that,' Die muttered.

'Like what?'

'Like all that _please don't die_ bullshit.'

'Why's it annoying? Because you don't have an answer for it?'

For a moment Die's eyes looked very far away, but he gave a slight shake of his head and stretched his mouth into a smile.

'No, because everything you say is annoying.'

'Annoying like being woken up at five _every_ – _fucking_ – _morning_ – because your jackass roommate has to do his lunges or crunches or bunches or slouches or whatever the fuck it is you do?'

Die grinned and, very carefully, he placed a small piece of fish into his mouth. He chewed, his face tense, and swallowed stiffly.

A smug, catlike grin curled around Aoi's face. Slowly, very deliberately, he hooked an arm around Die's neck, pulled the other man to face him, moved in close, and kissed him long and slow on the lips.

There was a sort of shocked silence before Die burst out laughing and pulled back, ruffling his friend's hair roughly, but once it had broken for the laughter it seemed difficult to get the laughter to stop: both of them collapsed into fits even as Aoi was pulled firmly but gently from his chair, one orderly on each side of him, and taken out of the room and borne away somewhere down the long, polished corridor.

 

After dinner, Ruki settled himself down in the TV room. Kai still hadn't appeared, and when he'd stuck his head through the doorway of his room, he'd seen that the lump in the bed had gone. It gave him a vague sense of disquiet; he didn't like a world where people could vanish so easily.

 _Mito Komon_ was on, a show Ruki would have never normally watched. He let the plot run mostly past him. Nobody else seemed to be watching, either; Aoi hadn't reappeared after dinner, and although Die was sitting in an armchair facing the TV, he was sunk so low in his seat that his chin was resting on his chest and Ruki doubted he could see. He was occupying himself with his lighter, flicking it on and then snapping it closed again, twirling it through his fingers; without his grin in place, he looked exhausted. Shinya and Kyo were sitting on the floor, a chess game between them, but they didn't seem to be playing; Shinya's voice was too quiet for Ruki to make it out, but he kept moving various pieces around the board and launching into long, inaudible explanations, seemingly to himself. For his part, Kyo looked distinctly unfocussed, and it was that more than anything that gave Ruki the courage to go over. His heart was thumping, he realised, filling his ears with the sound of blood.

He wanted to say something like _thanks for earlier, this is for you_ , but his mouth felt very dry, so he just held his gift out in front of him like an idiot. Kyo blinked up at him.

'It's a book,' Ruki said foolishly.

'Correct.'

'Have you read it?'

Kyo's dark eyes examined the cover searchingly. 'No.'

'Well...do you want to?'

His eyes left the cover and flicked back up towards Ruki, a strange expression in them.

'Really?'

'Yeah, of course. It's – I guess it's kind of a weird book. Nothing really happens. But I like it.'

He'd been expecting some sort of smart-ass response, but he didn't get one. Instead, Kyo remained staring strangely up into his face, and slowly reached out and took the book from his hand.

'Thank you,' he said quietly.

Ruki nodded. He was uncomfortably aware that Die's attention had left his lighter, and was now fixed curiously onto the two of them; it was making him feel slightly hot and ill-at-ease. On the floor, Shinya continued to mutter to the chess pieces, pushing them around into different configurations; Kyo smoothed the cover of the book carefully.

'It's the _Catcher in the Rye_ ,' Ruki said pointlessly, hoping to fill the silence, 'It's kind of – well, it's about—'

He was spared by a flurry of activity over by the door of the room; Uruha was back, clutching a book of his own under his arm – a _Local's Guide_ , but Ruki couldn't make out to which country – and without saying anything he weaved efficiently through the furniture and planted himself straight in the middle of the three-seater sofa, directly in front of the TV.

'Dad's show is on,' he announced to the room at large. The remote control was affixed to the scratched wooden coffee table in front of him, and he leant forward and tapped it smartly to change the channel. There was a flare of static – the rabbit ears didn't seem to pick up such good signal here, Ruki had noticed – and Uruha's face went tight, but it mostly cleared and he relaxed again.

'Dad's in France,' he announced. 'I remember when he was filming. I was there. For some of it. We had wine, and I saw the Eiffel Tower.'

 

Die looked up, but not because of Uruha; there was another scuffing sort of sound from the door, and Aoi was led into the room. He had just one orderly with him this time, holding loosely to his arm, so he seemed to be able to stand and walk alone; something had happened to him, however. His head was hanging low and he was clutching on to his own arms just above the elbows, his knuckles a whitish colour from effort. He didn't say anything, either – perhaps that was the biggest change. He allowed himself to be deposited into an armchair.

Some slightly tacky sounding theme music spewed from the television set – something flowery and vaguely annoying, with an accordion – and a handsome man's face filled the screen, interspersed with shots of various landmarks: the Eiffel Tower, check. Roman Coliseum, check. Big Ben, check.

'Aoi,' Die said cautiously, pulling himself upright in his chair, 'You okay?'

Aoi's head bobbed lightly, like a cork, but he didn't say anything.

'Oh, fuck,' Die muttered, clambering to his feet and striding over, his clothes gaping baggily around his bony body. He squatted before Aoi's armchair and grabbed the other man's face, forcing it to look at him. 'Aoi, man. You all right?'

'Shh!' Uruha said sharply; the static images of the Great Pyramid and Niagara Falls had been replaced with a rolling shot of the same handsome man strolling along a broad French avenue.

'The beautiful Champs Elysées,' he was saying in a public tone of voice, 'One of my _personal_ favourite places in the world; the very epicentre of Parisian spirit and sophistication—'

'Shut up, Uruha,' Die snapped, 'Something's up with Aoi.'

Despite himself, looking uncertain, Uruha's eyes left the screen.

'Yeah?'

'Look at him,' Die said angrily. From the TV set, the narration had been overtaken by a syrupy burst of music: Patti Page was crooning _you will find your love in Paris, when you walk along the Seine..._

Uruha got to his feet and joined Die beside Aoi's chair. 'They've given him something,' he said in a revolted tone of voice.

_When you fall in love in Paris, it's a river of champagne..._

'This is bullshit,' Die said from between gritted teeth. 'They can't do that. He didn't _do_ anything.'

'Aoi?' Uruha said uneasily, 'Can you hear me?'

'Looks like lithium. Too much of it.'

'You've never _taken_ lithium.'

'I know what it _looks_ like.'

'Lithium's all right,' Uruha said, but he reached out and smoothed down Aoi's hair carefully. 'I don't mind it.'

'Uh huh?'

'Yeah. You can't really think. Not in the same way.'

'And that's all right, is it?' Die asked incredulously.

'I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand,' Uruha snapped. 'You _never_ think. How would you know what it's like to feel like you can't stop? I can _never_ stop.' He sighed heavily. 'I'm so glad I'm getting out of here soon.'

His hands shook a little as they fussed over Aoi's hair, parting it neatly into equal sections and smoothing it around his face. And when Shinya ceased using the chess set along with his mutterings, Uruha sat tensely for a moment and then went over and tidied it carefully, setting out the pieces not ready for a new game but in a neat regiment, two by two, bishop to bishop and king to king, in perfect symmetry.

 

 _The Local's Guide_ was followed by _Music Fair_ , but the guest wasn't anybody good; just some slushy singer whose songs were used on film soundtracks a lot. Nobody bothered to change the channel, though, and then the news came on, which showed footage of the moon rock on display at the Osaka Expo, and then a street so familiar it seemed to hit Ruki like a punch in the stomach: it was the clean-up after the gas explosion. There were houses that Ruki didn't realise that he remembered in their earlier forms, but they were rubble now, almost still seeming to smoke; the news put the death toll at 79 and said that more than 400 people were injured, and spoke optimistically about the work still to be done. After that item, there was more American troops being withdrawn from Vietnam, and then a socialite who had turned up hacked to bits and partially eaten in the trunk of a rental car, and then it switched to the weather: temperatures remaining steady, outlook mostly clear and fair, probably the last _really_ good week to go and see the cherry blossoms before they're all blown away again for another year...

Aoi seemed to be asleep in his chair, and Die had sunk back down again. The night had come up around them, and the flickering bluish light of the TV screen was the only illumination in the room; nobody else felt much like getting up to put a light on.

 

Kai returned after evening medications were giving out, dressed in pyjamas and looking very pinched and scrubbed and subdued; he smiled, however, and immediately sat down next to Uruha on the sofa, curling up against the other man and wriggling until Uruha finally, irritably, put an arm around him. He had brought his radio, which lay safely next to him on the cushion; the tinny sound of The Doors' _Light My Fire_ competed with the blare of the television until a stern-faced nurse – one of the male ones, with hairy arms – flicked on the lights and turned off the TV set.

'Sitting in the dark,' he muttered under his breath, and then said more loudly: 'Bed in half an hour, gents. Teeth brushed. No more cigarettes; you know the nine o'clock rule. Shinya, get off the floor. This whole room is filled with chairs.'

Shinya was whispering quietly into his palms, and didn't respond.

'Shinya, I _know_ you can hear me.'

There was a warning note in his voice that made Ruki's skin prickle.

'You have three seconds to get off that floor and into a chair, unless you want to spend the next few days in the isolation room. Three...two...'

'Leave him alone,' Ruki heard Kyo say disgustedly; the other man had been sitting silently in a chair for most of the evening, reading the book Ruki had given him. 'It's bed in half an hour; what _difference_ does it make?'

'It makes a difference because I said so and because I'm in charge here, _not you_.'

Staring at the nurse fixedly, a strange look in his eyes, Kyo took a cigarette out of his pack and lit up. Over on the sofa, Kai's radio had switched to playing _Bridge Over Troubled Water_ by Simon and Garfunkel, and he began humming along distractedly; the nurse rounded on him in annoyance.

'Shut up that noise,' he said sharply, 'And sit up. I want to see you two on opposite ends of the sofa. No more _cuddling_.' He sighed harshly through his nose. 'You boys,' he said quietly, 'Think you can do whatever you like and we'll all just pander to it. But you are here for _treatment_. There are _rules_.'

 

Ruki wasn't sure what it was that made him do it; maybe just the bruised, creased look that came over Kai's face when he was told to stop the music. He found himself getting to his feet, though, and pointedly placing himself on the sofa next to Kai, sandwiching him between himself and Uruha. Glaring at the nurse, he put his arm gently around the other man's shoulders. He had displaced the radio; he placed it carefully back in Kai's lap and, heart thudding high in his throat, hesitantly started to sing along. It was embarrassing to be the only voice in the room, especially as he didn't know all the words exactly, just the vague sounds of them, but it felt good, too; it felt _right_. It didn't take long for Kai to join him, a slight uncertainty to his voice, and then there was a depression in the sofa on Ruki's other side; Kyo had sat down next to him, closely followed by Die. The five of them squashed together, arms wrapped around shoulders and heads resting against heads, all singing along angrily. Even Shinya roused himself sufficiently to beat out the rhythm on the wall; Aoi didn't move or open his eyes but Ruki thought the other man might have been mumbling vaguely along with them:

_'Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down...'_

The shock to Ruki was so sudden that he almost stopped singing: the lightness in his chest, the warmth and light that seemed to glow from somewhere inside of him – he was cross, but he was _happy_. He was, in that moment, truly and honest-to-God happy; almost vicious with it. It was a feeling that had grown so unfamiliar it was hard to recognise right away, but once identified there was no mistaking it, and he caught himself squeezing the men on either side of him hard, doing his best to keep singing whilst laughter was bubbling up in his chest at the look on the nurse's face:

_'If you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind_

_Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind_

_Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.'_

The song ended and they were grinning at each other like idiots; like real crazies, Ruki thought, but it wasn't a thought that bothered him. Uruha was stroking Kai's hair soothingly, and Die was lighting a cigarette from the glowing end of Kyo's, and Shinya was beaming into his hands. Ruki shifted himself into a more comfortable position and found himself smiling up into Kyo's face. He wasn't naïve enough to think his good feeling was going to last, but it was such a relief in the moment that he couldn't wipe the happy expression off his face; for just a few minutes he didn't have to worry about where he was, or what E. O. was doing, or who Kaito was, or even what the future was going to bring. He had the last few moments: they belonged to him.

 

After the stunt they'd pulled, a few orderlies crowded into the room and started bossing people around; cigarette packets were confiscated and the group on the sofa was disbanded, sent off to get changed and brush their teeth with a warning to get into bed quickly. Die tugged Aoi out of his chair, his muscles straining like ropes beneath the skin on his stick-like arms; the other man still wore a dazed expression, but he allowed Die to lead him gently away. His walk was mild and shuffling, so unlike his usual strut that Ruki felt something like a bruise forming in his chest. His happiness evaporating, he went off to brush his teeth, and found a nurse waiting for him as soon as he had come out of the bathroom. From a brown tray, she handed him his two bitter little sleeping pills along with a paper cup of water. Ruki frowned.

'I don't need these,' he said, but the nurse – a middle aged woman with a pad of loose flesh under her jaw – simply raised an eyebrow.

'You can discuss it with your therapist in the morning,' she said, not unkindly, 'But in the meantime I'm going to need you to swallow them for me, please.'

'But—'

'We don't want to have another problem, Ruki. The lot of you are looking at no visits for a week as it is; please don't make things worse for yourself. Come on; down they go.'

Ruki glowered, but knew he was fighting a losing battle. Reluctantly, he pressed the two little tablets between his lips, and was tipping his head back to wash them down with a mouthful of water when he caught the eye of Die, leaning out of the door of his bedroom. The redhead stuck out his tongue, showing two round white sleeping pills balanced on its tip; he winked, and quick as a flash he had them in his pocket instead.

Tucking the pills firmly under his tongue, Ruki took a big swallow of water and nodded. 'All done,' he said, his voice only slightly distorted, and the nurse gave him a small bow.

'Thank you. Off to bed now, please. Sleep well.'

She turned to go, and Ruki shot Die a small smile. Aoi's words seemed to echo in his ears: _if you want to stay sane here, you're gonna have to break some rules._

 


	8. Chapter 8

'Let's talk about the day you tried to kill yourself,' Dr Kimura said.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the window in Dr Kimura's office was open. Outside it was blustery but warm, the grounds outside the sanatorium spread all over with buttery sunshine; it was the first of May and the trees had taken on a more filled-out look, and there were birds and insects humming around, and Ruki was inside missing all of it. He lit his first cigarette of the day.

'Okay,' he mumbled.

'Can you tell me when you decided to do it? —How you made that decision?'

Ruki sighed, exhaling a long plume of greyish smoke. He had nothing against Kimura, but he hated these sessions. Even group therapy was preferable.

'I don't know exactly,' he said carefully. 'I was walking home, and I felt...dazed. Like I wasn't really there.'

'Like you were somewhere else?'

'Not exactly.' Ruki took a deep drag on his cigarette. 'More like I was a ghost, or something. Or like none of it was real.'

'Is that why you didn't take in the explosion? Because it didn't feel real?'

' _I_ don't know. You're the doctor.'

'All right.' Kimura capped and uncapped his pen. 'Back to that day, then – you were walking home and nothing felt real.'

'...Yeah. Well. I kind of thought, _why not_?'

'Why not kill yourself?'

Ruki met his eyes. 'Yeah.'

'So did you think of any reasons not to do it?'

'I guess so.'

'But they weren't good enough reasons?'

'No.' Ruki sighed heavily, toying distractedly with his cigarette, 'I just...wasn't thinking right. I felt like I was going to die anyway. And I was worried that I wouldn't die all the way.' He frowned. 'I was worried that the part of me that was confused and hurt all the time would stay alive, and that my body would die but that part would keep on going, and it would just be that forever.'

There was a silence whilst Kimura wrote that down.

'So you decided to kill yourself...?'

'To make sure it was done properly. I guess.' Ruki pressed his fingertips against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut, 'I know it sounds crazy.'

'I've heard crazier. What was making you feel so sad that day?'

Ruki shrugged. 'Getting kicked out of school.'

'Why?'

'Because...I remembered when I was so happy to get into that school. It was all I cared about; being good enough. And I loved what I was doing there and what I was making. So I was sad because that had gone away and I didn't know what I was doing any more.'

'Okay. Any other reasons? Any troubles with your parents, perhaps, or friends, or maybe a girlfriend?'

Ruki's mouth felt dry. He crushed out his cigarette and lit another one, stalling for time.

'My mentor dropped me,' he said at last, carefully.

'“Dropped”?'

'He said he wouldn't mentor me any more.'

'Hm. Was this a school program, or—?'

'No.' Ruki knuckled his forehead vigorously, 'No, it was just somebody I knew. I mean, we met through the school; he was a guest lecturer for a few weeks. I went to his talks, and then...I don't know, we got talking and I showed him my work, and he agreed to mentor me. He was an artist. Is an artist. A working one, I mean. Successful.'

Ruki closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the sunlight stung.

'So how did that make you feel, exactly?'

' _Sad_. And...alone.' Ruki licked his dry lips, 'He was a friend, as well. He was kind of my only friend.'

'Why is that?'

'I guess because I spent all my time working with him. I didn't really have time to make any other friends.'

'What about friends before you met your mentor?'

Ruki half-smiled and shook his head. 'I don't really know what happened,' he confessed lowly. 'But I was...so busy. So in the end, they all just stopped calling.'

'So you were friends, but when he dropped you, he also stopped seeing you socially?'

'Yeah. He didn't think it would be appropriate.'

'Did you have a falling-out?'

'Sort of.'

'What about?'

Ruki fixed him with a look. 'Artistic differences,' he said flatly.

'You know...' Kimura leant forward conspiratorially, 'Maybe this is unrelated; I don't know. But I can't help you unless you tell me the whole truth, so I'm going to tell you something now, and if it's relevant then you can think about it; if it's not, you can forget you heard it. Deal?'

Ruki gave a short nod.

'All right,' the doctor said, speaking in a low but steady voice, 'Here it is: times have _changed_ since your friend Aoi was committed here. The legislation and diagnostic criteria is all up in the air at the moment, and I don't imagine it'll be sorted out for a fair while. What I'm saying, though, is that people don't necessarily get committed for that kind of activity any more. You know, there are a lot of...civil rights kind of groups, campaigning to stop that kind of thing, and they're being listened to. I suppose my point is that confessing to that kind of – thing – well, it wouldn't necessarily be as damning as it would have been a few years ago, from a mental health and a...well, a commitment perspective.'

Ruki cleared his throat and leant forward in his chair.

'So you're saying that you agree Aoi isn't sick?'

Kimura's face was stiff as a mask. His eyes flicked towards the door, and he gave a slight nod.

'Then what the _fuck_ are you doing keeping him here?'

'Ruki, it's not as simple as that.'

'Uh huh.' Ruki sat back, glowering, and raised his cigarette to his lips. 'Yeah, I bet it isn't. Have you told him that? Because I'm _sure_ he'll understand.'

'Ruki. Aoi's problems are something for him to discuss with _his_ therapist. We're talking about _you_ at the moment.'

There was an icy silence, and Kimura cleared his throat. 'You know what I said,' he said lamely, 'If you don't tell me the whole truth, I can't help you.'

Ruki stared at him. Slowly, he extended his left forearm and pulled up his sleeve, exposing the fragile white skin of his wrist. Very deliberately, in one smooth movement, he pressed his lit cigarette down there and ground it out.

'You're right,' he said blankly. 'You can't help me.'

 

The music room was filled with life: when Ruki walked in, he was greeted by howls of laughter and the sight of Aoi and Uruha caught in an ungainly waltz, the cigarette in Aoi's mouth jutting up at a rakish angle.

'Ruki!' he said, his voice sounding funny because he had to keep his limps clamped shut around the filter, 'You're just in time. I'm giving Uruha a lesson. Guess what, he can't dance.'

'I can _so_ ,' Uruha argued. He turned to regard Ruki over his shoulder. 'How was Kimura?'

'Asshole,' Ruki said matter-of-factly. 'Huge, enormous asshole.'

Letting go of Uruha, Aoi plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. 'Yeah. What else is new?'

Ruki glanced around the room. 'Where's Kyo?'

'What? _I_ don't know. I'm all for brotherly love when we're having a big jolly sing-song together, but you do know he's an _actual_ psycho, right?'

'Oh, he is not,' Die scoffed, and Aoi raised an eyebrow.

'Yeah? I guess you must know why he's here then, right?'

Die shook his head, and Aoi exhaled smoke in his face.

'That's it,' he said triumphantly. ' _Nobody_ knows. Yeah, he's a bit of a weirdo, but he's not exactly an _Uruha_ -level weirdo – sorry Uru – or a _Kai –_ sorry Kai _–_ and he's not a schizo headcase like Shinya, and he's not trying to win first place in a stick-insect-lookalike contest like you are. Oh, and I can't imagine he tried to top himself, either,' Aoi added quickly, performing a deferential sort of half-bow in Ruki's direction.

'So?'

'So if he's not here to manage his symptoms, then he must have been _put_ here. He must have done something. A _bad_ thing,' Aoi said with relish.

'Oh what, like you, you mean?' Die said sarcastically, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

'I'm the exception to the rule,' he explained. 'Kyo's no homo.'

'How do you know?'

'Do you _really_ think he'd be able to keep his hands off me if he was?' Aoi grinned, and Die gave in and laughed, shaking his head incredulously.

'You _are_ a nutcase.'

'Yeah, and the best part of you ran down your father's leg, Die.'

'Sure it did, but look how much good stuff was left. Anyway...'

With the air of a magician pulling an extra large rabbit out of his hat, Die leant right over and retrieved a package from behind the chair he was sitting on, placing it in his lap. 'Now that you're here,' he told Ruki, 'I can finally open this. It's been a _long_ time coming.'

'Yeah?' Ruki pulled up a chair, 'What is it?'

Die closed his eyes, as if scandalised by such a banal question. 'It's the big one,' he said in an agonised voice. 'Aoi made me _wait_ for you, because he didn't want you to miss this life-changing experience. Nice he cares about you.'

'This is the one,' Aoi agreed, puffing excitedly on his cigarette, 'Come on, Die, get that paper off. I want to see it.'

Ruki could tell from the size and shape that it was an LP – either that or Die's parents had posted him a large floor tile – and he leant forward interestedly as Die tore into it. There was a split-second's pause, and Die gave a groan of ecstasy.

'It's – so – beautiful,' he gasped, holding it aloft. 'Drink it in.'

'No _way_ ,' Ruki said, fighting the urge to snatch it from him, 'Where did your parents _get_ this?' Unable to channel his excitement into anything else, he lit up a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.

'Import shop. They didn't want to, on account of Mr Jimi being a druggie and a general corrupter of the youth, but...' Die sighed rapturously, 'I managed to convince them it was for my therapeutic benefit.'

'Jimi _Hendrix_ ,' Aoi moaned. ' _Are You Experienced_. The big one. Put it on.'

The Strauss record that had been sitting on the player from the waltzing lesson was swiftly dispatched with; Die dropped the new record down gently and, with greatest reverence, lowered the needle. There was a momentary hiss, a scratch, and then—

'Oh _god_ ,' Aoi and Die groaned in unison. _Oh god_ was just about right, in Ruki's opinion. It was a guitar, but not like he'd ever heard one before; it was strong, spare, almost aggressive; it was clear, bold, it was _wonderful_ , and the voice was low and smoky like it'd been breathing in wildfires all its life. Aoi and Uruha and Kai were dancing violently, all thrusts and jumps and punches, and Die jumped up to stand on the arms of his recently vacated chair, and as one they both hollered – ' _PURPLE HAZE, ALL IN MY BRAIN' –_ and Ruki couldn't stop himself from getting infected by their excitement, no matter how embittered he'd felt just a few moments ago; laughing, dancing himself, thrusting his hips around the room like his friends, punching the air, jumping up and down:

' _SCUSE ME, WHILE I KISS THE SKY—'_

There was a rude silence as the needle was taken off the record, and the men turned foolishly. There were two orderlies in their white uniforms, both looking grim; one had turned the music off, and the other walked over to Ruki, grabbed his forearm and pushed up his sleeve.

There was a small silence as the room at large took in the ashy, blistered burn on his arm.

'You did this to yourself?'

Ruki swallowed. 'It was an accident.'

'Dr Kimura says different. Says you got angry. That right?'

'I— hey!'

The lit cigarette was plucked from his fingers and ground out on the nearest surface, which was – Die gave an inarticulate angry yell – the record still in place on the player. There was a sudden, sharp odour of burning plastic, and Ruki found himself grasped roughly by the arms.

'No more cigarettes, I'm afraid,' the orderly said. 'And it's going to be the isolation room for _you_.'

 

It was strange, but the whole time he was being dragged down the corridor, Ruki's mind was oddly blank. It wasn't that he felt peaceful; anything but – he was dimly aware, when he checked back into his body, of fighting like a cornered animal against their heavy grips – it was more that he wasn't able to form a single coherent thought. He was too angry to let the ideas stick themselves together; his brain thrashed as hard as his body did, and the only sound that came out of his mouth were yells and an incoherent _nonono_ when he felt his arms being forced into two sleeves, two sleeves without cuffs that wrapped around and belted at the back and pinned his arms across his body...

He felt every face on the ward turned towards him. The crowd from the music room had followed, their shouting an angry buzz of background noise, like bees; he noted the young nurse with the perm meeting his eyes and then averting her gaze; as he was pulled past Shinya and Kyo's room he saw the flash of movement as they turned to him. Shinya's face was empty; Kyo's grim. It was impossible to explain later – the words wouldn't seem to come – but there was something in Kyo's gaze that seemed to catch Ruki's panic squarely around the middle and hold it for a moment. It didn't restrain it, didn't push it away or pull it close; it just held it, just for a moment, and Ruki's shouts rasped into silence. There was something in his eyes that made him feel soothed. Something that seemed to say, _it just_ is _this way sometimes_.

Just for a moment, and then he was tipped headlong, landing in a crumple on a mattress on the floor. The ceiling was high but the room narrow, barely big enough to fit the mattress; the walls were padded; the door reinforced.

Frantic, Ruki struggled to his knees, but he wasn't fast enough. The door closed, and it took the light with it.

 

Some hours later, Ruki awoke from a fitful sleep. He didn't know how long it had been. The dark was complete except for one very thin line coming from under the door; after a while of staring at it, that line seemed incredibly bright. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ruki turned away, moving to nestle in as best he could against the corner of two walls. He felt chilled; his teeth wouldn't stop chattering, and his mind flashed the same thoughts over and over like Morse code: _oh god. Oh god._

_What the fuck have I done?_

_How the fuck am I going to get out of here?_

The seconds dragged around him, and the air felt thick. He could feel time becoming something languid and syrupy, like treacle, as the day oozed beyond its borders.

'Hey E. O.,' he whispered into the wall. Never mind that he had never once called him that to his face. 'Hey, I'm in a pretty big mess here.'

Silence.

'I only wanted to make all the bad stuff stop,' he said next, his voice sounding thin and cracked in his ears. His throat felt raw, and he wondered how loud he'd been yelling earlier. He knew he'd shouted for a long, long time once the door had been closed.

'The thing is,' he murmured painfully, 'I kind of need you here right now. I'm really scared and I need you. I need you to _help me_. But on the phone – you didn't ask me where I was – and I didn't tell you.'

He licked his dry lips, but his tongue was dry too. He felt the most incredible thirst.

'Whatcha doing?' he whispered lightly. 'Are you painting? Are you fucking around? Are you drinking or watching TV or reading a book in the bath?'

He swallowed, feeling the motion rip all along his throat.

'I miss you.'

He could feel that he was crying from the wetness on his face.

'I love you.'

His misery was so sudden, it felt as if some cruel hand had snatched at his insides and twisted. He curled in on himself, his shoulders shaking violently, his tears blotting into the fabric of his pants.

Then, just as suddenly, there was a scuffling from outside. After hours of silence it sounded very loud; Ruki turned and realised that it must have been coming from only just the other side of the door; a black shadow was blocking out some of the light. There was some more scuffling and a muffled clicking sound, and then a sound like a lot of clattery things being dropped on the floor, and an annoyed huff. Then, so improbably that Ruki had to shake his head to make sure his ears were still working—

 

_What would you think if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?_

_Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, and I'll try not to sing out of key_

_Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends_

_Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends..._

 

Eagerly, and with difficulty, Ruki staggered up to his knees and managed to drag himself closer to the door. If he lay down on the mattress with his head right by the gap, he could hear the music more clearly; he could hear where someone's foot was tapping gently along to the rhythm.

 

_What do I do when my love is away?_

_Does it worry you to be alone?_

_How do I feel by the end of the day?_

_Are you sad because you're on your own?_

_No, I get by with a little help from my friends..._

 

Ruki let out a breath that he felt he'd been holding for a very long time. Tiredly, he smiled. He let his eyes fall shut, enjoying the music; enjoying it still even when the song ended and there was another click, and a muffled curse, and then another click, and then The Doors started up with _Break on Through (to the Other Side)_. And then The Rolling Stones with _Ruby Tuesday_. And David Bowie with _Space Oddity_ , and Ruki's heart lifted higher in his chest at the sound of a group of almost inaudible voices from the other side of the door, ' _this is ground control to Major Tom..._ '

Despite himself, he laughed weakly, and he heard some excited mutterings from the other side of the door.

A voice from very close to the gap, 'Just hold on, Ruki. They have to let you out sometime. They can't keep you locked in there.'

In the dark, which away from the glowing gap seemed to grow as soft and expansive as the night sky, Ruki couldn't figure out whose voice it was. He didn't care. As he'd been telling Kimura earlier that he'd had no other friends, he hadn't thought of this: the fact that he had friends _now_ , if nothing else.

He had no liberty, no life, no lover, not any more. But he _did_ have friends. There were people walking on the earth and he may have had no connection with them, no blood and no mutual upbringing, but they still cared if he was happy or sad.

Bowie was replaced with Martha and the Vandellas, _Dancing in the Street_ , and Ruki could hear the squeak of their shoes and see their shadows leap as they danced just behind the door. He closed his eyes tight and found he could picture it just as clearly as if he was able to look right at them; Uruha hanging back, embarrassed, Aoi dancing like Elvis, up on his toes with bent knees, grabbing Kai around the waist and twirling him; Die's long skinny limbs everywhere at once. The shadows moved and he heard a small thump as somebody dropped to their knees by the door; there was another click and the song changed: _My Generation_ , by The Who, and Ruki licked his lips and tried his best to sing along with his shredded throat and dry mouth: ' _people try to put us down...just because we get around..._ '

Click. The Beatles again, _Twist and Shout_. Click. _You Really Got a Hold on Me_. Click. _Carry That Weight_. Click. _Happiness is a Warm Gun_. Click. _Revolution 1_ got halfway through and then _–_ Click. Nothing else.

Ruki could hear voices again, and he wriggled desperately against the door. He thought he could just about tell what was happening; he thought he could hear his friends being told to cut it out _right now_ , that it was dinner time, to go and wash their hands and get to the table sharpish.

Sounds of protest. Ruki bit his cracked lips. Without the music playing the space seemed tiny and cold again, and he shivered. He heard the squeak of shoes against the polished floors as, one by one, his friends traipsed away down the corridor.

Pause. A silence that felt icy. Ruki waited. There was something said quietly, something short, and an even shorter reply, and one last set of footsteps.

Then, so close it felt like it was coming from inside his own head, a voice in Ruki's ear – and this voice he _did_ recognise. Not quite cold, not quite warm. Hoarse. Soft. Kyo.

'It's okay,' he said in a low voice. 'I'm still here.'

Ruki closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, smiling gratefully up at the ceiling. He could hear the other man stirring through what he could only imagine was a pile of cassette tapes, hunting out a good one.

A pause, and then the voice again, seriously: 'Imagine you're outside. It helps.'

Click: _Here Comes the Sun_. Ruki grinned.

 

He didn't know how many cassette tapes they had between them, but the music continued ceaselessly through the evening. Time started to behave normally: averaging each song at three minutes long, Ruki could consider twenty or so of them to be another hour's passing, which made him feel calmer. Eventually, the sound started to distort and wind down, and Ruki guessed the batteries were going, but by then it was okay: he felt bolstered. His body ached and his arms felt like they had no blood in them at all, and he was hungry and tired and he needed to piss with some urgency, but it was okay. He felt curiously calm, floating in the darkness like a Buddha.

As if that was what the room had been waiting for, the door at last clicked open, and Ruki squinted against the sudden bright light.

'I have to piss,' he croaked. 'Get me out of this.'

He could barely hold still as he was unbuckled and released; he was shivering so much he was almost dancing on the spot. As soon as he was freed he raced to the bathroom, but when he walked out drying his hands, he noticed something he hadn't seen in his urgency: sprawled out over the floor, his back up against the wall next to the isolation room door and head lolling onto his shoulder, Kyo was fast asleep with a pile of tapes and a portable cassette player in his lap. Carefully, his legs still shaky from hours of being cramped into a strange position, Ruki squatted next to him and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. Kyo scowled.

'What,' he said flatly, not opening his eyes. Ruki smiled.

'Thanks,' he said. Kyo cracked an eye open.

'Think nothing of it,' he mumbled.

'It was nice of you. It was really nice of you. Staying with me.'

Kyo yawned widely into his face.

'You gave me the book. We're even.'

Ruki opened his mouth to argue, but Kyo just gave a loud fake snore. He rubbed his eyes and then, with surprising agility, almost jumped to his feet.

'You're being boring,' he said. 'Go to bed.'

And without another word, Kyo stalked off down the corridor to his room.

 


	9. Chapter 9

As the weeks stretched on, the weather grew sultry and warm, and the winds died down to a gentle breeze. Ruki was eventually granted permission to walk around the grounds, as long as he wasn't alone, and he began to realise that he was in a beautiful place. The air smelled fresh and clean, not sooty and still like it always had during summers in the city, and the grounds of the hospital stretched a fair way around the surrounding hills, through dappled little copses of trees and fields thick with wildflowers, and Ruki saw a deer running in a skittery, high-tailed sort of way through knee high grass. It was quiet, too. It was just possible to see the buildings of Kyoto city, if you got to a suitable vantage point, but you couldn't hear it; the city seemed little more than a vast glittering oasis, shimmering somewhere unreachably far in the distance.

Not everybody had grounds privileges. Die's had been revoked and were never reinstated; the deal was that he could get them back if he ate everything on his tray for ten meals in a row. Kai had them, but he didn't like to wander too far; he played endless games of football on the patch of lawn directly in front of the sanatorium, sometimes against Aoi and sometimes against a friendly orderly or two, but his eyes flickered constantly up to the barred windows of the locked ward where he lived out his life, and before long the lack of walls and ceiling seemed to drive him to distraction; he was more inclined to get confused, and after those outdoor sessions he would spend long periods of time curled up on his bed with his radio.

 

The songs changed throughout the summer, as if the radio stations knew that all anybody wanted to do was flop down on the grass and tip their faces up to the sun. You didn't just hear Eddie Cochran with _Summertime Blues_ , you heard The Kinks with _Sunny Afternoon_ and Otis Redding with _Sitting on the Dock of a Bay_ and The Beach Boys with _Surfin' USA_.

Die's Jimi Hendrix record hadn't been entirely ruined, but side one was completely unplayable; the needle snagged over and over on the wormy patch of melted plastic. In rebellion, Die played side two more and more that summer, at all hours of the day, and Ruki found _The Wind Cries Mary_ seemed to be stuck in his chest like a heartbeat. Finally, Die got himself a month's ban from the music _and_ TV rooms after sneaking out of his room and playing _Foxy Lady_ as loud as it could go in the early hours of the morning, and he didn't appear at breakfast that day.

 

In mid-June, on a day without a breath of wind, Ruki signed himself out to go for a walk with Aoi and Uruha. The other men knew routes that he didn't; following Aoi's lead, the three of them moved as a straggly bunch up and around a steep hillside, craggy with patches of rock and great tufts of dry, reedy grass. They followed no clear path but they walked purposefully, the route growing tougher and tougher, until gradually the ground levelled out into a little plateau somewhere below the summit of the hill – or maybe it was a mountain; Ruki wasn't sure – and Aoi stopped. He took a deep, long breath, smiled a little, and turned to Ruki.

'This is our place,' he explained solemnly. 'You can't see the sanatorium from here, and they can't see you. I've checked out of every window; even the one behind the nurse's station.'

'How did you get _there_?'

'They can't watch _all_ the time,' Aoi said impatiently. 'But look, the thing is...I need to discuss something with Uruha. It's pretty important, but...' he swept a hand through his hair uncomfortably, and said bluntly, 'Look, I feel like such a dick saying this. But it's kind of private.'

Ruki shrugged. 'That's okay.'

It really was. His head had been buzzing all day, and the idea of being alone outdoors was an attractive one. He thought he could loop back around to the other side of the hill, where it was shady, and simply lie in the grass until the sweet healthy smell of it was inside him, and his pores were purged completely of the sanatorium smells of radiator dust and disinfectant and overcooked vegetables. He could sense that Aoi felt uncertain, so he held up his hands.

'It really is okay,' he repeated. 'I'll come back and find you. We've got...' he checked his watch, 'Forty minutes until we have to be back. I'll come back for you when it's time for us to walk back down, okay?'

'You sure you're okay to be alone? I mean – you're _sure_?' Aoi asked, eyeing him edgily, and Ruki smiled ruefully at the ground, suddenly realising what the problem was.

'I'm not going to kill myself,' he said.

'Promise?' Aoi asked abruptly. 'Because if we find you swinging from a tree, it's going to really ruin my life, and I've gotta tell you, things are already going downhill as it is.'

'I promise', Ruki assured him. 'Don't worry. I'll see you soon.'

Feeling embarrassed but still somehow touched, he stumbled around and took off, hands in his pockets and his head tilted up, his eyes fixed straight on the hazy, softly glowing horizon. The air was so clean; the sky was so blue it almost wasn't blue any more. The sun felt good on his skin, like sinking into a warm bath; it was so palpable and so golden that it seemed almost liquid. Walking around the hillside, the roof of the sanatorium came into view, and he studied it soberly, trying to figure out the feeling that it called up within him.

It felt like a thousand things at once.

 

_Dear E. O.,_

_I've been here just over two months now._

_I still think about you every day, and I wonder if you're thinking about me. I think about you in your studio, or in your flat, or at the bar down the street from your place – sitting at that little round table in the window and smoking a cigarette. I'm only just allowed cigarettes again. Did you remember that they said I couldn't have any, after what I did?_

_Definitely not. You wouldn't remember even if I'd actually told you. But anyway, the ban is lifted. It's a relief because I don't have to scrounge for them any more, and I can pay everyone back for all the smokes I borrowed._

_It's summer again. Remember last year, and how much time we spent walking along the river, feeding crackers to the fish? Remember how the bed felt too hot with both of us in it?_

_At the moment I'm allowed to walk around the grounds here; I get an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon, if I want, as long as people are free to go with me. I have to have at least one other person, whether that's a patient or a nurse or what. I don't want to go with a nurse or an orderly, but it's not always easy fitting an hour outside around everybody else's therapy sessions._

_It sounds so casual writing about it that way, as if this isn't the strangest thing that's ever happened to me._

_The thing is, E. O., there are a lot of negatives to being here. I'm away from you and from my home, and I have no freedom to decide what to do with myself, and sometimes I feel completely cut off from the world._

_But, there are good things too. I have friends; real ones. Do you know what that's like? Do you have friends, or are they just your entourage?_

_And the thing is, I can't be sure, but I think I'm getting better. These days I don't have those huge blank periods; I can remember everywhere I've been and what I've been doing. I don't feel so scared, either. I never ever managed to tell you how scared I was, or why. I suppose I didn't know why myself. But every day I just felt like I was disappearing. I felt like I was being stuffed further and further inside a big black airless sack._

 

Ruki looked up from his notebook, shading his eyes against the sun. He'd found a pleasant place to sit, but the sun had slid down in the time he'd been there, and when he checked his watch he found that his twenty minutes were up already. He took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and got to his feet, brushing grass off his legs. The late afternoon sunshine was his favourite kind, the after-school light that he loved, and it called up in him an ache of almost pleasurable melancholy. It was like having a tooth ache, he thought; the way it made you want to grit your teeth together hard, and how good the pain could feel then.

Ruki rounded the corner, and stopped dead in his tracks. In the warm sunshine, his skin seemed to freeze.

Aoi and Uruha were tangled up on the grass, and Uruha was messier than Ruki had ever seen him. His T-shirt was shoved up to his chest and his pants were around his knees; he was on his back, messy haired, and Aoi was sprawled over him. He was on his knees, bending to suck enthusiastically on the other man's cock, and though he was fully dressed his jeans were unzipped, and one of his hands was pushed inside his own underwear.

 

Ruki felt his heart clench tightly in his chest, his cheeks flooding with blood. He knew he had to do _something_ ; to make some noise or else back away, turn around, pretend he hadn't seen, but he was frozen. His mouth moved soundlessly.

Everything felt hyper-real, as if life had suddenly got a lot more defined; he could see the individual blades of grass being flattened under Uruha's cheek as he moved his head restlessly from side to side, and he could see the tip of Uruha's cock pushing against Aoi's cheek; he could see rhythmic movement where Aoi's hand disappeared inside his pants, and he realised that he could _hear_ everything clearer, too; the wet, hot sound of Aoi's mouth, the skin-on-skin sound of him desperately stroking himself off. Clearly his jeans were in the way; he made a small noise of frustration against Uruha's body.

The breath in Ruki's lungs felt thin and harsh.

Uruha was making noises, little moaning and sighing sounds, and his head was thrown back to expose his long pale throat. It was shocking, somehow, to see him so undone; the twigs in his hair and his clothes in disarray; he was panting now, his breath escaping him in uneven little bursts, and one of his hands groped desperately for Aoi's head, tangling in the other man's hair, pushing him down to get more of him:

'Please,' he groaned, 'Aoi, _please,_ I'm gonna—'

Ruki stepped backwards abruptly, but it must have been his movement that caught Aoi's attention; his eyes widened and he yanked his head up, scrambling to shield Uruha from view.

'Shit – _shit_. Ruki—'

'I'm sorry,' Ruki croaked desperately, finally finding his voice, 'I'm sorry! It's – time to go. But – you two catch me up. Okay?'

Cheeks burning, he quickly started to trip his way down the hillside, his heart in his throat and his hands and feet numb and prickly. He couldn't explain why the sight of his friends had affected him so much, but he felt almost heartsick; there was a dissolving sort of feeling somewhere inside him and he could feel as he walked that his own dick was hotter and heavier than usual, not exactly hard but still pressing against his thigh insistently.

His _friends_. Had he expected it? Had he purposefully watched? He was panicking, unable to find answers to those questions, so they spun in his head loosely. He raked his shaking hands through his hair. Guilt, hot and terrible, seemed to roil in his stomach. In his head he saw Uruha and Aoi, and he saw E. O., and he tried to make sense of it but he couldn't.

 

By the time he got to the bottom of the hill, he was out of breath. He'd been almost running, but he felt slightly calmer. He couldn't go back inside without Aoi and Uruha with him, so he tried to breathe deeply as he waited. It felt very important to act naturally.

It didn't take them long, which was lucky because there wasn't much time. Aoi was dragging Uruha behind him by the hand and they both arrived with flushed cheeks, panting heavily; they'd obviously run all the way. Aoi's lips were still red, still slightly swollen looking, and Uruha was frantically pulling his hair into order and trying to yank his clothes straight; he looked deeply, deeply agitated, and Ruki saw panic in Aoi's eyes.

'Ruki,' he gasped. 'I'm sorry you saw that. I really am.'

'We need to get back,' Ruki interrupted him, 'We're nearly out of time.'

'Uruha...' Aoi clutched the other man's shoulders desperately, 'Uru, come on. I promise you'll be able to get cleaned up when we get in—' he said in a pleading tone of voice, but Uruha wrenched himself violently out of his grasp.

'It's on me,' he gasped, 'I have to get it off, I have to, I have to.'

'Inside you can get it off—'

'I have to, I _have_ to, I _have_ to—'

The panic in Aoi's eyes suddenly made sense: it wasn't at being caught at all. Ruki had grown so used to the daily routine of Uruha's compulsions – hearing him counting under his breath, watching as he calmed himself down by straightening things or evening them up, sitting beside him as he chewed each mouthful of food twelve times on the left side of his mouth and twelve times on the right – that they had almost faded into the background, become just a quirky part of his personality, but this was different; this was real; this was _scary_. Tears were rolling freely down Uruha's cheeks and his hands scrubbed vigorously at each other, leaving vivid red scratching on his skin.

'What's on him?' Ruki asked, shaken.

'Cum,' Aoi snapped impatiently, 'It's cum, and he hates it.' He threw a harried look at Ruki, 'I'm sorry. When you – he was just about to cum when you saw us. I normally...' he clutched at a handful of his hair, giving it a sharp, angry pull, ' _Fuck_! I normally get it all off him, I mean I make sure it's all in my mouth or in my hand, but...' he shook his head, 'I couldn't this time, you distracted me; I missed some.'

'What do we _do_?'

'We get him inside.' Aoi squeezed his eyes shut tightly, just for a second, and then in one smooth movement he lunged at his friend, grabbing Uruha from the back and pinning his arms down to his sides, fighting vigorously against his struggles as he started trying to drag him along.

'Look,' he said, his teeth gritted with effort, 'Run ahead and tell them we need help. Nobody's gonna be able to talk him down from this one, okay? And – Ruki?'

'Yeah?'

Aoi leant his forehead briefly against the back of Uruha's neck, still struggling against his desperate movements. 'I'm sorry,' he said quietly.

Ruki hesitated for a moment, his heart racing, and shook his head.

'Why would you _do_ that to him,' he said furiously, 'If it makes him like this?'

Aoi seemed to stumble backwards, and Ruki took off running; there was no time to wait for an answer, even if Aoi had one.

 

Later, it all felt to Ruki had watched a scene in a bad movie: the drama of a nurse sprinting across the field, hypodermic at the ready, seemed corny and manufactured. Neither did the sight of Uruha gone horribly limp and being carried inside feel real: it was just too sad.

Aoi didn't get into trouble; as far as Ruki could tell, the nurses had no idea what had caused Uruha's breakdown. Ruki didn't feel much like hanging out with him, though. He wasn't angry, exactly, but he felt deeply uncomfortable about everything he'd seen; when he was walking down the corridor and saw Aoi walking purposefully towards him, he turned on his heel and shut himself up in one of the phone booths instead. He stuck the phone's receiver between his ear and his shoulder, and he lit up a cigarette. Hastily, he started to dial, wanting to look busy enough so that Aoi couldn't reasonably ask him to stop and talk; he found his hand was shaking, and he clenched it tightly into a fist to make it stop.

There was a pause whilst the nurse at the station connected him, and finally the ringing started. Ruki took a deep drag on his cigarette. Two rings, three, four. His heart was pounding in a way that felt dangerous. Five rings. Six.

'Yes?'

'It's me,' Ruki said flatly.

'Ruki. Listen. You can't keep calling here.'

'No, _you_ listen,' Ruki said, closing his eyes tightly, 'I have something to say to you.'

'Ruki, why are you speaking to me like this?'

'I'm—' Ruki gulped, the breath catching in his throat, 'I'm speaking to you like this because you're just – you're just a big _user_.'

Pause. ' _What_ did you say?'

'I said you're just a _user_!' Ruki repeated, and he was surprised to hear how strong his voice had become, 'You – you just use people! You use people to make you feel better about yourself, because your paintings are shitty and all your friends only hang around you because you're famous and everyone pretends that they like you but they actually _hate_ you, they _hate_ you.'

'Ruki.'

'I was the _only_ person who loved you, and now _I_ hate you too! And I didn't want to, but you made me! You made me hate you!'

'Ruki. _Ruki_. _Ruki_!'

It took him a moment to understand that the voice wasn't coming from the telephone, but instead from the young nurse standing beside him, her body holding the glass phone booth door open; he also realised that he was crying, and that he had been hitting the side of the phone with his wrist over and over, and that his wrist felt bruised and his fingers numb.

In the phone, there wasn't even a dial tone.

' _Ruki_ ,' the nurse gasped, evidently relieved he had stopped shouting, 'I've been trying to _tell_ you. That phone is broken. It doesn't connect.'

A great chill swept over Ruki's skin.

'Wh-what?' he whispered.

'It's _broken_ ,' she repeated, her wide eyes peering into his face, 'It doesn't work.'

'But – no – I was talking—'

'No,' she said, 'No you weren't. You were shouting, and you were crying, but you weren't saying anything.' She placed a hand gently around his upper arm. He looked down; he was holding a cigarette, but it wasn't lit. His eyes filled with fresh tears.

'Come on, now,' the nurse said gently, 'Come on, let's go and calm down. I can give you some Valium.'

'Will it – will it knock me out?'

'No, it's very gentle. It'll help you to calm down, and it'll let you go to sleep if you want to, but that's it. Sound good?'

Ruki nodded. He wasn't sure exactly what he was agreeing to, but it felt good to give in and just be led, and to have somebody else take charge.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

'I can tell you right away that it's not uncommon.'

Ruki was slouched down so far in his chair that his chin was just about propped on his chest. He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled grey smoke over his own body, like a shroud. There was a bandage on his wrist where he'd injured himself banging it against the telephone.

'I understand that this is worrying for you. When you were admitted, our preliminary diagnosis was that you were clinically depressed. You've been showing improvement. I urge you not to think of this as being knocked back to square one. There is no reason why you can't wake up tomorrow and be as happy as you were last week.'

Dr Sato's office was almost a perfect square, and he had a page-by-page calendar on his desk that said June 18. Apart from his nameplate, it was the only decoration: the rest of his desk was sparse and functional. Notepad, pen, typewriter, telephone. No pictures or ornaments, and not even a fancy fountain pen with its own holder like Kimura had used; just a regular black ballpoint. The clock on the wall said ten minutes past four, and the afternoon was drawing to its slow, golden close.

'Ruki, if you don't talk to me then there is very little point in me wasting my time talking to you. I can tell you that delusions and hallucinations can be found in depressive patients with some regularity; one in five, perhaps, on my own anecdotal evidence. This is not the end of the world.'

He sighed, ruffling his neatly trimmed moustache.

'You were making such improvement,' he said, 'And I can see from your face that you're now intending to waste it. You're going to throw it all away.'

 

Ruki's eyes narrowed.

'I don't want to be here any more,' he said calmly. 'Depression, hallucinations, delusions, whatever. I don't care. I signed myself in; I'd like to sign myself out now, please.'

'That's not how this works, Ruki. You put yourself in our hands; we decide when you are well enough to leave us.'

'You can't just keep me here.'

'Well, actually, we can. You can apply for discharge, of course, and we would be obliged to review and consider your application. But, and don't think I'm making empty statements here, that would be a complete waste of time. There is no chance at all your application would be successful at this stage.'

'You said I was improving,' Ruki said icily, and the doctor raised his eyebrows.

'I did,' he said, 'And you are. But in your relatively short time here, we have two delusional episodes and incidences of self-harm, as well as a certain disregard for the rules.'

'So what does being _naughty_ have to do with how sick I am, exactly?'

Sato sighed, leaning back in his chair wearily.

'I know it seems unfair,' he said. 'But you have to understand that these rules aren't just cobbled together on a whim. We actually think about these things. We study them. And the thinking in this case is that people in your position are often with us because their conditions have left them unable to function within society; society being, after all, just a bunch of rules that everybody seems to have agreed upon. Big rules, like don't kill anybody, and little ones too, like how close you can stand to strangers in a shop and the volume of voice you should be using inside a building. Rules, rules, rules: that's all interaction is; that's all _personality_ is, when you get down to it; an interpretation of the rules, and a decision whether or not to abide by them. Our aim here is to teach you those rules. And that's why rules are important, and why following rules is a pretty good indicator that you're recovering. With me?'

'I knew not to kill people and when to wash before I got here, so no, I'm not with you.'

'No, you didn't. You didn't react appropriately to those rules, because you tried to break one.'

'No I didn't—'

' _You_ count, Ruki. _You_ count. It's no more abiding by the rules to kill yourself than it is to kill somebody else. It's the societal contract: maybe we didn't all agree to it in so many words, maybe not all of us were even asked. But these rules are the price of living in society, and the whole world is society now. You can't run into the woods and become feral if it all goes wrong. You have to make your peace with it; you have to not kill yourself.' He paused. 'What do you think?'

'I think you're full of shit,' Ruki said, but he couldn't really have said his heart was in it.

 

When Ruki left Sato's office, he felt filled with a heavy exhaustion. It was costing him all the energy he had simply to keep dragging his legs along the corridors; it was like trying to run underwater.

In the music room, Jimi Hendrix had at last given up some of his spotlight; as Ruki passed, he heard a song he couldn't identify. He paused, hanging limply in the door frame, and found more or less what he was expecting; Aoi sprawled out in an armchair with his feet propped on top of the small table that held the record player, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He was staring listlessly into space, and he gave Ruki a wary look when he walked in.

'Hi.'

'Hi.' Ruki shifted uncomfortably. 'How's Uruha?'

Some sorrowful emotion flickered briefly over Aoi's face, and he cleared his throat unnecessarily.

'Still out,' he said. 'He's probably Uruha in the sky with diamonds right about now.'

Since Aoi hadn't jumped immediately down his throat, Ruki pulled his tired body into the room and slumped down into the other armchair.

'Who is this?' he asked, gesturing limply towards the record player.

'This? This is Die's newest. Black Sabbath. _Paranoid_.' He took a deep drag of his cigarette, 'Big in England. They've got people who listen exclusively to this kind of music. Know what they call them? Headbangers.'

'No way.' Ruki shook his head, and then held up his bandaged wrist. 'Well, I guess I can join them. I'm a wristbanger.'

Aoi snorted, his lips twitching, and Ruki let out a long breath.

'I'm sorry I got angry with you,' he said. He didn't feel like he had the energy to dress it up any more than that. He watched Aoi carefully; the other man shrugged, but the expression on his face didn't look quite as casual.

'It's all right. You asked a fair question. But I do have an answer for it.'

'Go on.'

'The thing is, you have to promise to keep it a secret. And I don't mean some high school, oh-I-promise-but-I-can-tell- _one_ -person bullshit, I mean you fucking _swear_ , and you _mean_ it.'

'I swear,' Ruki said simply, and Aoi nodded, accepting it.

'Okay. So. I first met Uruha about five years ago...' he hesitated, his eyes flat-looking, 'We've been here a long time. Anyway – anyway, when I first met him, he was a total wreck. You think he's bad now; you should have seen him back then. As much as I _hate_ this place, I have to admit it's helped him. Back then, though, things were...different. I mean I know it's not super fun all the time here now, but this was – you know, this was 1965. They didn't have all the drugs then, so they did things differently. They had punishments, more than just having your own clothes taken away or restricted to the ward; I mean... _punishments_. It wasn't a good place. So that's the first thing to remember, okay? No matter what, nobody could leave their kid here and believe it was a good place for them.'

 

He lit another cigarette, looking unsure of how to continue.

'Anyway, back in those days, Uruha and I roomed together. Daddy hadn't bought him a private room yet; that came later. And...fuck.' Aoi shook his head, 'There's only one way to say it: one night, he just got into bed with me. He was – pretty upset. And he started telling me all this stuff, but none of it really made any sense, and the thing was, he was crying, but he was...I mean, he was kind of all over me, too. He was whispering all this stuff into my neck but he was kissing my skin at the same time, and he had his hands inside my clothes, and...he was agitated. Worked up. He asked me to touch him.'

Aoi leant forward, cradling his forehead in his hand.

'I was...younger then. Maybe now I would have asked more questions, but at the time, I don't know. I'm not making excuses for myself, but I was lost, you know? I was alone, and I was scared, and...no offence, Ruki, but you have no idea how shitty it is to be the only non-crazy person here. I'm not saying you guys are all nuts or anything, but you at least have something _wrong_ ; something they think they can fix. But me...I'm always going to be what I am. There's no fixing me.' He paused. 'And I felt stuck, and forgotten, and – I did it. I ended up using my mouth on him, and he was _incredible_ ; it was like he just couldn't get enough. But he kept saying, _please don't get any on me, please don't get any on me_. Anyway, I didn't know how serious it was for him, and so of course I accidentally let some cum get on him, and he _freaked_ ; completely freaked out. Screaming, crying, whatever. It was scary. After that episode, Daddy bought him the private room, and I – got some pretty bad punishments. But it all kind of came out in group therapy afterwards, at the time, so now I think about it, I guess Kyo knows as well; he was here then. But it all comes out: Uruha's a total OCD headcase _anyway_ , but the one thing that really gets to him, more than anything else in the world, is cum. To him, it's just dirty. It's contamination. It literally drives him insane; even his own, the feeling of his own on his skin, he can't take it. That was why he was so desperate for me to touch him, you see? He couldn't do it himself. He's _never_ been able to.'

 

Aoi took a deep pull on his cigarette and let it out very slowly.

'Since then,' he said, 'I've felt like the only person who really understands. Even though it'd gone so badly, we used to sneak into each other's rooms and try again. There was a difference in him afterwards; if he could cum without anything going wrong, he'd be happier; he'd get more relaxed. It was like being normal, for him. Like the noise in his head shut up for a little bit. The doctors couldn't figure it out. And I was careful; we didn't have any other incidents. I was always able to get rid of it for him.' Aoi sighed. 'And that's it,' he said. 'That's the whole story. Since then, we've been doing it...every so often, I guess. Whenever he wants to, but _only_ when he wants to, got that? Because I have _never_ pushed him.'

At that, Aoi smashed out his cigarette in an ashtray and leant forward, staring straight into Ruki's eyes.

'So listen,' he said seriously, 'I'll accept your apology, and I apologise in turn for what you saw, because for whatever reason, I know it upset you. But...' he hesitated, weighing his words, 'Maybe it's hard to understand, why I do it with him; why we take the risk. But don't ever, ever think that seeing him like that doesn't completely break my heart, because it does. And – don't you _ever_ assume that just because I'm the clinical-definition homosexual, I'm some kind of predator. Got it?'

Shakily, Ruki nodded. Aoi remained staring at him, their eyes locked for a long time before he finally sat back.

'I love him,' he mumbled. 'He drives me crazy, but I really love him. And I suppose I wanted to show him that it didn't have to be bad, or scary. Sex stuff, I mean.'

He gave a final long sigh, and forced a smile onto his face. 'Now come on, do me a favour: stick some Beatles on and get Kai in here. I could use some cheering up.'

 

All in all, it turned into a better evening than Ruki could have anticipated, and the horrible weight that had settled on his chest seemed to lift slightly. There was still a lingering unease about what he'd seen, but it didn't feel very specific to Aoi and Uruha.

It was more that he'd been so _naïve_ when he'd met E. O. It had been what the older man had liked about him, he thought; or at least the thing that had attracted him at first and then frustrated him later. It had been like a contest between them; E. O. constantly undoing a button and Ruki doing it up again; E. O. always slipping a hand inside Ruki's jeans and Ruki always twisting away from it. It had been a turn-on for the older man at first; that back and forth, just one big chase. But gradually – Ruki couldn't say exactly when, apart from that it must have been around the time they'd first slept together – he'd gotten bored; it had started making him angry, and he'd begun a careful attack strategy: one moment calling Ruki beautiful and whispering _please, please, I'll make it so good for you_ into his ear; the next calling him a tease and a stupid kid and leaving him to try and melt down huge frozen silences that could extend for days.

In the end, it had been easier to just give in.

 

Ruki sat scrunched up into a ball on the sofa in the TV room, a tense little headache curled up behind his temples. He wondered if what had really perturbed him about what he'd seen between Aoi and Uruha was the strange _liberty_ of it; the complete lack of abandon. Neither of them caring how they looked or sounded. Freedom.

The vague thought he'd had before, that maybe sex with other men would always be like that – always a contest, always a battle to keep composure – had made him feel sick and tired of the whole damn thing. He'd always _wanted_ it with E. O., sometimes enough to beg for it, but in his heart, he was aware that his motives were foggy and mixed up. When he was locked up in E. O.'s body on the bed, his limbs at painful angles and his cheek pressed against the pillow, he felt mostly disappointed: this strange physical struggle hadn't been what he wanted at all. But what, then? Just E. O.'s attention, probably. Just the feeling of closeness.

'“People always clap for the wrong reasons.”'

Ruki felt like he'd leapt about a foot off the sofa, and his head began to pound in protest. Rubbing a hand across his forehead angrily, he tried to make sense of what had just been said. The words didn't seem to mean anything specific whichever way he turned them.

'People always clap...?'

Kyo sat down next to Ruki on the sofa, holding up the book he'd borrowed from him.

'It's from the book. It's good.'

'The book?'

'And the quote.'

Ruki felt like his head was spinning. He massaged his forehead grimly.

'I'm glad you liked it,' he said mechanically, and sighed. 'Hi.'

'Hi. I heard you're more of a loony than normal these days.'

'Who said _that_?'

'I did.'

Ruki scowled. 'Not that it's any of your business.'

'Correct.'

'Everyone says you're the craziest one anyway.'

'Could be,' Kyo said disinterestedly. 'What happened to your wrist?'

'Oh, I...banged it.'

'I know. I'm kidding. The whole ward heard you thrashing around.'

'Brilliant.'

'I was making a point.'

Ruki took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. 'Cool.'

'Anyway, thanks for the book. It was great.'

'Yeah?' Ruki said cautiously.

'Yeah. I can see why you like it so much.'

'Can I ask you a question?' Ruki asked suddenly, surprising himself. Kyo raised his eyebrows.

'You can try.'

'Why don't you ever go outside? Don't you have grounds privileges?'

'I have them.'

'So why not?'

Bluntly, Kyo held up two fingers.

'Groups of two or more,' he said.

'Doesn't Shinya...?'

'Restricted to the ward. Own safety.'

'Oh, yeah. Well, why don't you come out with me, then?'

Ruki might have imagined it, but he thought the ghost of a smile flickered across Kyo's face.

'That an invitation?'

'Can I ask another question?' Ruki said, ignoring that, and this time he wasn't imagining it: Kyo really did smile.

'Fine.'

'Why do you have to wear the hospital clothes? Why can't you wear your own?'

Kyo lit up a cigarette.

'I've been here twelve years. What I came in with doesn't exactly fit any more.'

 _Twelve_ _years_. Ruki felt a strange pressure in his head at that, a dizzy feeling, as if his ears were about to pop.

'Can't your family get you clothes?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'It's a long story. And it's dinner time.' Kyo got to his feet and looked at him, unsmiling. 'So. Grounds tomorrow?'

'Is that an invitation?' Ruki asked sarcastically, and Kyo blinked at him.

'Yes, obviously.'

 

Dinner was some kind of meat stew that came in a thick gravy. Ruki stirred the food around more than he ate it. He had a headache, and he felt sort of sick, and the sky outside had turned from clear blue to a weird lavender colour that made him feel restless. The wind had picked up, too; all the trees kept flipping their leaves the wrong way, and every so often an ominous rumbling would come from the horizon.

It seemed to be affecting all of them. Kai wasn't eating, but sat chewing on his knuckles instead, his eyes very large as he stared at the windows. Uruha had reappeared at last, but he was wan and doped from almost twenty-four hours of continuous sleep; he had to have help spooning his food, and his eyes were unfocussed. Die was a ball of strange energy, moving his food around vigorously; he moved so quickly it made Ruki feel tired just to look at him. The redhead's cheeks burned with a sort of feverish heat, and he stirred his food viciously, blew on the surface to cool it, made _mmm_ noises and lifted little mouthfuls to his lips but always interrupted himself, always had some remark occur to him just before he could actually put the food in his mouth. It kept him chattering almost non-stop, mostly about nothing; when the allocated hour for dinner was up, Die leapt to his feet and started stacking the bowls so that nobody could see that his was still full, and Ruki wondered if the supervising orderly sitting at the head of the table could really be as stupid as he looked. Even Aoi was quiet; he didn't seem to have the energy to make anybody laugh, and the resulting melancholy atmosphere was a little scary. Ruki hadn't really appreciated what a vital purpose Aoi fulfilled with his relentless teasing, but it became apparent at that meal; he was the one who jollied them all along, made them laugh even when they didn't really feel like it; his noise was obnoxious but without it, the place felt more like a hospital full of mental patients than ever. That was Aoi's gift: he made them feel normal. Ruki missed it.

Only Kyo and Shinya were their usual selves, but it was unfortunate that their usual selves weren't really that normal to begin with. Shinya ate steadily but great fat tears kept sliding down his cheeks, and from the fierce look on Kyo's face Ruki guessed that he shouldn't stare or ask what was wrong.

 

Dinner had been so oppressive that as soon as he'd been allowed to leave the table, Ruki had made a beeline for his bedroom. Kai had been right behind him, but that was okay; for once he didn't have his tinny little radio switched on, and the quiet suited Ruki fine. His greatest ambition at that moment was simply to lie down, close his eyes and allow his mind to drift a welcome few inches up and out of his body.

From the music room, he could very faintly hear that somebody was playing a record; _Flowers_ , by The Rolling Stones. _Ruby Tuesday_ played without incident, but by the time the track had switched to _Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?_ Ruki was becoming aware of a growing whooping noise, an inhuman sort of noise that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. On the bed just a few feet away from his own, Kai made a low, worried moaning noise.

The whooping grew louder. At first it had sounded happy, but now it sounded afraid, and it was rising in pitch and shaking unsteadily; Ruki heard the sound of fast footfalls, and the thud of bodies colliding.

The asylum noises: the _shush now, come on now, shush now_. The whooping grew weaker and died down. Ruki opened his eyes to find Kai staring at him solemnly.

'Shinya,' he said, and Ruki nodded.

'Right.'

The record had been stopped. Between that and Shinya's sudden quiet, the sound of the wind was very clear outside, and Kai clapped his hands over his ears. Every few seconds, a handful of rain would be flung against the window, and Kai would make a small whimpering noise.

Ruki didn't know quite what to do. He sat up awkwardly on his bed, his stomach feeling tight.

'Are you all right?' he asked warily, but before Kai could answer or even look at him, the door opened and yellow light spilled over the both of them. Ruki blinked; he hadn't realised they'd been sitting in the dark.

'Medications,' a harried-looking nurse announced. 'They'll have to be early tonight. Sorry, boys.'

Without waiting for a response, she doled out some pills to each of them – sleeping pills and another little round Valium tablet for Ruki; sleeping pills and two unrecognisable red-and-blue zeppelins for Kai – and handed each of them a cup of water.

In equal silence, both men tipped their cups to their mouths and swallowed. Ruki could taste the bitterness from having the pills clamped under his tongue. As soon as the door closed behind the nurse, he spat the pills out, and was surprised to see Kai do the same.

'Shouldn't you—?' he began uneasily, but Kai shut him up with an unusually grown-up look.

'I have a place where I put them,' he announced in a quick, breathy sort of voice. 'You can put yours there too. They never find them. They don't see anything. They don't see it _ever_. Not _ever_.'

He squatted on his heels beside his bed and nimbly began to twist one of the white-painted screws holding the skirting board in place. He must have done this many times before, Ruki thought; the screw wound itself out neatly, and the panel of skirting board fell away with a small clatter. It left behind it a small hole that looked as though it had been stuffed with cotton; on closer inspection, it appeared to be a tissue. Kai pulled that out, and Ruki was able to just make out a fair hollow containing a collection of different pills.

'I put them in here,' Kai said in a fast whisper, his shaking fingers adding that night's pills to his hoard, 'Every time I don't want to take them. I don't always want to take them. I don't. They can't make me.'

'I can see that,' Ruki said uncomfortably. Kai looked at him, seeming almost surprised to find him there.

'Yours too,' he demanded, and Ruki handed them over. Kai pushed them quickly into the hole, stuffed the tissue back in after them, and neatly replaced the panel of skirting board.

From the outside it was completely undetectable.

Kai began chewing his knuckles again, and Ruki watched as a thin dribble of blood trickled down his wrist.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Midnight, or perhaps just past midnight.

'So all in all,' Aoi was saying in a low voice, 'not one of Kai's better nights?'

Along with the rest of the ward, he was lounging outside of his bedroom door in his pyjamas. The storm was raging outside, rain pounding against the roof and tree branches knocking the windows and the wind making a high whistling around the eaves of the building, but even the weather couldn't drown out the sound that had awoken them all; an unsteady, breathless keening that came from Ruki and Kai's room and seemed to wander sadly down every corridor, through every doorway, intent on waking everybody up and having them bear witness to the terrible grief. Shinya was absent – by now a drugged-up puddle in the isolation room, Ruki thought – but Kyo had appeared, still in his day clothes, and both Die and Aoi kept shooting him sideways glances; it wasn't like him to get involved.

Ruki's room was blizzard-coloured, thick with white coats. Kai's crying was closer to screaming. Why couldn't they calm him down?

'What's wrong with him?' Ruki asked, not really directing his question at anybody in particular. His voice was thick with sleep, and he could feel the creases from his pillow across one cheek. It was cold outside of his warm bed, too, and the sound of the wind outside made him shiver. Die offered him a tired shrug.

'Don't know,' he said listlessly. 'He gets like this sometimes.'

'Kai is one of God's special little people,' Aoi said.

'Ah, he's not stupid,' Die yawned.

'I know he's not, but he doesn't know he's sick. If you don't know that you're ill, it's hard to tell people what's wrong with you.'

 

Catching Ruki's sleepy, confused look, Aoi made a soft sound of frustration. 'Look, some of us are easy and some of us are difficult, right? You're easy to figure: you're here because you tried to off yourself. Whatever your reasons were, whether it's because of the environmental impact of living or the general cruelty of the world, blah-blah-blah, you did something that only sad, strange people do. So you're here until they can work out how to make you not sad and strange. Right?'

'You should be a therapist,' Ruki said drily, and Aoi made an impatient motion with his hand.

'My point is, we're on a spectrum. Yes? Die's harder to figure out because he assures us that he _doesn't_ want to die, yet he gets his kicks from not eating whilst trying to burn as many calories as possible, which I'm sure is fun and all but is also really _stupid_ and _deadly_. So that's his big question: why doesn't Die want to eat? So they have to figure that out and _then_ turn him around. Get him back on the sauce, literally. Then you get more complicated with Uruha, who is obviously getting out _any day now_ —'

'I _am_ getting out!' Uruha fired back, his face tense, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

'—But who lives in a complete fantasy world where he's the only one who can stop everybody he loves from dropping dead, and the way he stops it is by making everything symmetrical or add up to twelve. Right?'

Uruha was glowering at him. 'You're an asshole,' he said.

A terrible, wailing scream broke free from the closed door behind Ruki, and the assembled men fell quiet and dropped their eyes to the floor.

'You are a bit of an asshole,' Die whispered after a long moment.

'I know. But you love me. Or I love you. One or the other.'

Die snorted. 'Both, you idiot.'

'And I love you, too, Uru. Even though you're a really huge pain in the ass.'

'Whatever,' Uruha said angrily, but his face seemed to have relaxed a little; his dark brown eyes looked softer. The yells from Ruki's bedroom had lapsed into some quieter, juddering sobs. A few minutes passed with the sound remaining steady, and then the bedroom door opened for the head nurse to step out.

She wasn't the _real_ head nurse; that one was there during the daytime, although Ruki wasn't exactly sure which one it was. This one was just the night time cover.

It hadn't taken long at all for them to all start looking the same; just an endless parade of starched uniforms.

'Men,' she said in a clipped voice, 'I don't know what you think you're all playing at. Only Ruki should be out of bed.' She sighed deeply through her nose, and then, 'Uruha,' she said in a more friendly voice. 'How would you feel about having a roommate just for one night? Kai needs to be alone, and the isolation room isn't available.'

Eyes wide, Uruha shook his head, and the nurse sighed again.

'I'm not sure that there's a lot of _choice_ , Uruha. Ruki here needs a bed.'

'No,' Uruha said distinctly. Aoi rolled his eyes.

'There must be spare bedding. He can sleep on the floor in our room.'

'I don't really think that's a very nice option for Ruki, is it?'

'He tried to _kill_ himself. You think one night on the floor's going to make a difference?'

'There's a spare in my room,' said a hoarse voice, and everybody seemed to jump. Kyo had been so quiet, they'd all forgotten he was there.

'Kyo,' the nurse said in an odd tone of voice.

'I can sleep in Shinya's. Ruki can have mine.'

'Ruki can just...sleep in Shinya's, can't he?'

'Shinya wouldn't like that.'

'Oh, he wouldn't—'

'He would know.' Kyo's level stare met against the nurse's, but she looked away first.

'Well, that's very... _nice_ of you, Kyo. Are you sure?'

'I thought there wasn't a lot of _choice_ ,' Kyo repeated, choosing his words carefully. 'My parents didn't get me a private.'

It was slight, but Ruki caught it: a deep shudder seemed to run through the nurse, and one of her hands spread itself against the wall to steady her body. She seemed unable to look at Kyo, instead staring at the door beside him. She stretched her lips into a smile, though, and gave a jerky nod.

'Of course. Well, how nice. You can sleep in Kyo's room tonight, Ruki.'

'Oh my god,' Ruki heard Aoi mutter to Die lowly, 'He'll be leaving the ward in a matchbox.'

 

The room Kyo shared with Shinya looked a little different to Ruki's, which surprised him: he'd expected every single box-like dormitory in the place to look exactly identical. Ruki's room was at the back of the building, though, and Kyo's was at the front; the rain was louder here, hammering hard against the window, and because Kyo's room was on the end, the ceiling sloped in one corner to follow the line of the roof. Ruki thought it would be claustrophobic in here in the daytime, with the lone window and low ceiling and the view of hills crowding in all around, but it was cosy-feeling at night. Maybe that was just because he was cold, though. Even the grey wool institutional blankets looked inviting.

It seemed Kyo slept under the sloping ceiling, pressed against the outer wall of the sanatorium: at least, that was the bed that the other man gestured towards.

'Why wouldn't Shinya like me sleeping in his bed?' asked Ruki, feeling a little apprehensive now he was here. The floor was cold against his bare feet, and he shivered as the wind rattled the windowpane.

'He gets paranoid,' was the short answer.

'He doesn't mind you?'

'He's more used to me.' Kyo sat down on Shinya's bed. Ruki noticed that, unlike his room with his postcards on the walls and Kai's colourful confusion of posters, the walls in this place were almost entirely bare. There were only two decorations, both on Shinya's side: a watercolour of the surrounding hills, and a family portrait showing a very pretty woman who seemed to have Shinya's smooth oval face and wide mouth, sitting next to man who wasn't anywhere near as attractive, but who looked friendly and calm. A single child sat between them, smiling; Shinya, in happier times. He looked very young: perhaps twelve or so.

The picture made Ruki feel sort of bruised inside his chest, and he pulled his eyes away from it. He wondered if there had been any signs then; if Shinya's parents had had any inkling of what was coming, or if they were simply waiting in perfect ignorance for their family to fall apart.

Feeling uncomfortable, Ruki pushed the covers back on Kyo's bed and perched himself on the edge of the mattress. Blue lightning flickered through the clouds outside, and Kyo's profile seemed to sear itself onto the backs of Ruki's eyelids.

'Everyone acts scared of you,' he said haltingly.

'Correct.'

'Any reason why?'

Kyo gave him a measured look. 'You aren't in any danger,' he said flatly.

Ruki nodded, still shivering. The wind sounded louder than ever. He heard a low, long, rising wail from down the hall; a sound of pure despair. He gripped at his own face, fighting the urge to clamp his hands over his ears like a child.

'What's wrong with him?' he asked desperately. 'He's so...I just woke up and he was like that. I tried to comfort him, or to get him to talk to me, or something—'

'You couldn't have helped him,' Kyo said, not unkindly. Agitated, Ruki raked his hands through his hair, feeling it snag and pull on his fingers.

'No?'

'No. Nobody can.'

'So what happens?'

'You just have to let him wind down.'

'But what's _wrong_ with him?'

There was a pause, and then the click of a lighter, and Kyo's face flared suddenly into view – just for a moment, rosy from the flame, his eyes glowing. Then, the flame died, and all that was left was the tiny smouldering end of his cigarette as a soft red glare in the darkness.

'I don't know,' he said. 'But he's not like Shinya. I don't think he was born like this. Something happened to him.'

'Yeah?'

Ruki saw the cigarette dip slightly as Kyo shrugged.

'That's what I think.'

'What about you?'

'What about me.'

 

'Why are you here?' Ruki asked quietly, turning onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. It was so completely dark that his eyes couldn't adjust; there was just darkness forever. Kyo was very quiet. The quiet stretched for a long time.

'I don't feel like saying,' the older man said in the end. 'Sorry.'

'But you've been here twelve years?'

'Yes.'

'How old are you?'

There was another long pause.

'Twenty-seven,' Kyo said at last.

'Are you...I mean...' Ruki swallowed, this throat dry, 'Are you curable?'

He thought he saw it when he turned his head; in the dim light from the cigarette, a wry smile seemed to flicker across Kyo's face.

'That depends whether or not I'm sick,' he said quietly. He ground the small light of his cigarette out into an ashtray. 'When I came in here, it was 1958. Now a dozen years have passed and the world outside has changed completely.'

Ruki fidgeted with the covers uncomfortably, not quite sure what to say. The truth was that if he thought he had to stay here for ten years or eight years or even five years, he would really go crazy. He would kill himself outright. Even if he failed over and over again, he would keep trying until he finally succeeded in flinging himself out of his own life.

He just didn't see any point in anything.

'How can you stand that?' he asked at last, his teeth chattering, and heard the whispery sound of blankets moving as Kyo shifted over on Shinya's bed.

'I don't know,' the other man said. 'There's nothing else to do but stand it.'

'I would kill myself,' Ruki said quietly, and Kyo gave a soft snort.

'Is that all you know how to do?' he said acidly. 'You have no idea.'

'No idea of _what_ , exactly?' Ruki retorted, stung.

'You don't know what it's like. You come in here thinking poor you, poor Ruki, and maybe that's true. Maybe things have been unfair and you shouldn't have wound up here. I can tell already that you're unhappy and that you don't really know who you are, but I know who I am. And I deserve to be here.'

' _Deserve_ —?'

'Yes.'

'I don't understand.'

'I don't know how to explain any better.'

'Can't you try?' Ruki asked impatiently. 'You're talking in riddles.'

'Look, for you, life was something you were happy to throw away. But that's never going to be me. Back when I had any choice in the matter, I did everything I could to keep myself alive. You turned everything – all your sadness and anger and fear – inside, you understand that? You used it against yourself, but I didn't. I turned it outside.'

'Did you do something bad?'

'Yes,' Kyo said plainly, 'I did.'

'Do you regret it?' Ruki asked.

 

The question sounded stupid to his ears, but Kyo seemed to be considering it. He wondered if the other man was like him; if he also found it easier to talk in the dark, when nobody could see his face.

'No,' Kyo said at last. 'I don't. Sometimes I wish I did. I think they would let me go if I did, but it wouldn't mean anything. There's no such thing as regret when you don't have a choice, do you understand? It was going to be death, so I chose to live.'

'I still don't understand.'

'No. But it's all right. I like that you say that.'

'Say what?'

'“I don't understand”. It's good. Most people would pretend that they did.'

 

Ruki sighed, turning restlessly over in his bed. _Kyo's_ bed. It felt strange to be there, when he thought about it. He hadn't been aware that the other man had any particular smell, but now that he was surrounded by his sheets, he thought there was something familiar to them. It was nice. It had been a very long time since he'd been surrounded so completely by the feeling of another person.

Kyo's last comment seemed to have put a full stop at the end of whatever drawn out conversation they'd been holding onto between them; the silence dragged itself out into minutes. The wind outside was still harsh, the rain still spattering against the window, but down the hall everything seemed to have gone quiet. The absence of even Kai's lone sobs made it feel as though everybody in the entire world might have been asleep, and that the night was very deep and dark and long.

It was a feeling so lonely that it took Ruki's breath away. It was sudden, but it was strong: the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, and he felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of his throat. The dark room yawned around him like the mouth of some great dark creature, and with a crunch he felt it bite down around him, separating some vital part of him from the rest of his body, so his hands and arms went numb and he couldn't swallow or breathe properly.

 

 _E. O._ , he thought stupidly, desperately, _why aren't you here?_

_I keep asking for you, why don't you come?_

 

It seemed suddenly unbearable to him that he should be so alone, that he should be the one who was left to hurt. Unbearable. Intolerable that the person he loved so much had pushed him aside; had used words like _messing around_ and _very young_ and _so many years ahead of you_ , little words, _tiny_ words that minimised and made him feel as though some distant winter was sinking into his skin. He breathed in hard because it hit him in the chest and it _hurt_ , as if the wound that had been dug into his body on the day E. O. left him had suddenly split open again along the old fault line: _if you take me back you don't even have to treat me nicely. You really don't._

_Just please, please don't leave me._

'Kyo,' he said, barely audible; he would be surprised if the other man heard him over the raging of the storm outside.

'What,' Kyo said. His voice was just slightly muffled, and Ruki guessed he was either half asleep or had his face pressed into his pillow.

'I – I need something.'

'You know where the bathroom is.'

'Shut up.' Ruki pulled at the hem of his t-shirt awkwardly. 'I just...will you do me a favour?'

'Depends.'

'Will you...' Ruki bit down on his lip, unsure exactly how to express what he wanted, 'Would you just – stay awake?'

'Stay awake.'

'Until I'm asleep?'

He heard the rustling of blankets, and felt rather than saw Kyo's eyes staring at him in the darkness.

'You want me to stay awake until you're asleep.'

'Yes.'

 _I know it sounds crazy, but it feels so late and I feel so lost and alone, and everybody else is asleep or dead and I kind of feel like if you go to sleep too, if you leave me as well, then I'll stop existing. I'll just fade away into nothing. I'll turn into a shadow, like the negative of a photograph, and all this darkness around me will come and swallow me up_.

He didn't think he would have said that to Kyo even if he had been able to find the right way to do it. He simply lay, stiff as a board in the darkness, listening to the silence between them. There was a long, long pause, and then:

'All right.'

'You will?'

'I said I would.'

Ruki hesitated. 'You promise?' he asked, and when Kyo spoke again, he thought he could hear a smile in his voice.

'Go to sleep.'

 

_Dear E. O.—_

It was easier to lie and to write in his head, imagining the words written in white ink across the black of his eyelids.

_If you ever tell me anything ever again, you have to tell me why and how you could do this._

_I would like to know why you said you loved me, and why you said you didn't, and how you could look me in the eye and tell me that sometimes 'I love you' was something that you could say but not necessarily mean._

_Because I always meant it._

He was so tired. He curled into a tighter ball, pressing his nose into the pillow. He really could smell Kyo now; his skin, his hair.

_I love you, E. O., but I don't think I ever want to be like you. I want to always mean the things that I say and only ever say the things that I feel._

He jolted, almost slipping off the edge of sleep, and heard Kyo make a soft sound from across the room. Still awake. Ruki let his eyes fall closed again.

_And there's a guy here who said that you sounded like a dick, and I think he might have been right. And I think that even though I love you, I'm wrong to love you. And that I made a bad choice._

 


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Ruki woke up to the sound of rain hammering against the windows, and the small room was filled with a dim greyish light that told him the sky outside was heavy with clouds. It was disorienting, not hearing tinny music from Kai's radio first thing; he stirred uncomfortably in his nest of sheets and blankets, trying to let his memories of last night come back to him in small, manageable pieces.

Over the rain, he realised he could hear gentle snores coming from across the room, and pushed himself up on his elbows groggily. Kyo was fast asleep, curled up into a very tight ball like some kind of hibernating animal; his hair was wildly rumpled, showing where he had tossed and turned during the night, and he seemed very deeply asleep. His eyes were moving slightly behind his eyelids, Ruki noticed. He must have been dreaming.

Ruki wondered exactly how badly you had to fuck up to end up stuck here for twelve whole years.

There was no clock in Kyo's room – evidently neither he nor Shinya felt the need for one – and so, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of going back to sleep in the other man's bed, Ruki rested just a moment longer before bullying himself into clambering out of the sheets and up onto his feet. It was cold, so after a moment's deliberation, he pulled the woollen blanket off the bed and draped it around his shoulders, bundling himself up; his feet were chilly on the floor, but that would have to wait. He had no idea whether or not it would be safe to go back into his own room or not, and the thought left him feeling vaguely displaced, like a guest that didn't really belong anywhere.

 

Killing time, he brushed his teeth extra thoroughly and washed his face. Blinking water from his eyes, he saw that he looked tired and wan; there were purplish shadows under his eyes, and his lips and cheeks had an unhealthy sort of colour in the yellow overhead light. His dark brown hair was messy beyond all reason, the kind of tangled bird's nest that E. O. used to label inexplicable, as in, _Ruki, your hair is completely inexplicable this morning_. With a handful of water from the sink, Ruki attempted to flatten it, but gave up quickly; it wasn't doing any good, and the droplets of water running down his neck were starting to make him shiver.

The ward clock that hung above the nurses' station said six forty-five, which was a relief. On the wide blackboard that was mounted just next to the nurses' shiny plate glass window, somebody had already written in a neat hand that the weather was unsuitable for any walks in the grounds that day, which seemed to hit Ruki right in the stomach even though he'd suspected as much, because he was supposed to have gone out with Kyo. After the awkward night they'd had, he was almost relieved that he wouldn't have to, but still, he felt guilty to have to break his word. He wondered how long it had been since Kyo had been outside in the fresh air.

 

Below that message – which was written in urgent red chalk, so that nobody could ignore it – the chalk colour switched back to the normal white and the board showed a neatly-drawn table showing the visiting schedule, which was new. Ruki couldn't remember anybody getting any visits so far; he knew that Die's parents travelled a lot for their business, and that Aoi's refused to come, but he'd felt too awkward to ask about anybody else's. Uruha's family came fairly often, but they rarely showed themselves; instead Uruha would always be waiting in a jacket by the door of the ward, an agitated look on his face and his fingers tugging on his hair twelve times on the left side, twelve times on the right side, over and over until it made you crazy to watch him, and then a buzzer would go and he would slip quickly out of the door and down the stairs, and then Ruki supposed his parents took him off in a car somewhere.

Today, both Die and Uruha were on the list, but next to both of their names was scrawled the acronym RTW: Restricted To Ward. Ruki supposed it made sense, after what had happened the last time Uruha was let out; still though, it made him vaguely uneasy, thinking of the friction that always arose between Uruha and Aoi whenever Uruha's parents were mentioned.

He wondered if Uruha maybe was right, and maybe it _was_ jealousy. He knew that both Aoi and Uruha's families were very well-off, and that Aoi's family lived much, much closer than Uruha's – Aoi's were only next door in Mie, whilst Uruha's were way out in some fancy part of Kanagawa. It must hurt him that his parents never came. It would be impossible to avoid comparing them, the two families: the fact that one seemed to be so in love with their son, and that the other seemed to almost hate him.

 

'Morning,' said a husky voice from behind him, and Ruki turned. As if Ruki's vague thoughts had willed him into being, Aoi was standing in the corridor, still wearing his pyjamas and sounding as if he'd only just woken up, but already with a cigarette in his mouth and his lighter poised in his hand.

'Hi.'

'You survived the night, then,' Aoi remarked, lighting up, and moved to stand next to Ruki. For a moment, he read the board in silence, and then snorted through his nose derisively.

'Have you seen Kai?' Ruki asked, and Aoi gave his head a gloomy shake.

'Not yet. Maybe later on today. He's normally up by now, but...' he shook his head. 'Storms like that always seem to set him off. It makes the winter up here a right ballache.'

'It's happened lots of times before?'

'Not _lots_ ,' Aoi amended. 'It's not every storm, I guess. Sometimes they just make him jumpy. Other things do it, too. Poor little freak.'

'What other things?' Ruki asked curiously, but Aoi gave his head a tired shake.

'Lots of things,' he said wearily, and stifled a yawn, gesturing towards the blackboard. 'Happy families on the ward today.'

'Yeah. I never met anybody's parents.'

'I saw yours when they took you in. Seemed all right. You fall out with them?'

'Huh?'

'They don't visit,' Aoi said, with the air of one spelling something out to a very stupid person, and Ruki ran a hand through his hair embarrassedly.

'Oh. No, nothing like that. '

'They live far away, or something?'

'No...' Ruki tugged on his hair uncomfortably, 'We're only in Osaka, but they're just – they're not very well off. I mean, they don't have a car or anything, and the train is expensive, and then they'd have to get a taxi on top of that, so...' he trailed off, shrugging unevenly, 'It's not really possible. Maybe on my birthday, or something.'

As soon as he said it, the thought of still being stuck here on his birthday made him feel as though a freezing cold wind had blown through the ward and straight through him; he clutched his blanket tighter around his body.

'Oh,' said Aoi, sounding quite unconcerned, 'Are you a state patient, then?'

'State...?'

'Yeah, this place is a non-profit, so it's subbed by the government, and every so often we get a state person through. Usually not for long; they're normally here for some specialised course of treatment. In and out, so it doesn't get too expensive for the taxpayer.' Aoi gave a harsh laugh and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

'No, my parents are paying.'

'Right.' Aoi shot him a sudden curious look, 'Wait, didn't you say that you were going to some fancy university? How did you afford that?'

'Scholarship,' Ruki answered shortly.

'Far out.' Aoi grinned at him. 'What, am I making you uncomfortable? Come on, just because half of us in here were once pampered little princes, it doesn't make a difference. Look what _I've_ got for a family. If compassion was money they'd be grovelling on the street.' He took another deep pull on his cigarette: 'Check out Uruha's parents when they come in, too. They put dysfunctional in the dictionary. Just keep out of his dad's way if you want your dick _un_ fondled.'

' _What_?' Ruki said, almost swallowing the lock of his own hair he'd been uncomfortably chewing on, and Aoi gave him a scathing look.

'I'm not making it up when I call him a creep,' he said pointedly.

'He did that to you?'

' _Tried_ to. I was so fucking _bored_ hearing him talk about his stupid travel show that I think he thought I was doped up or something.'

'So what happened?'

'Well I _wasn't_ doped up, so I kicked him.'

'Where?'

'Only in the shin. I'd have got him in the balls if I could. Bastard,' Aoi spat. 'But he was on the chair next to me, so shin was my best option. Made him keep his hands to himself, at least.'

Ruki swallowed hard. 'Can I have one of those?' he asked, gesturing towards Aoi's cigarette, and languidly the other man lit one for him.

'It's always the same with people like that,' Aoi said. 'They get to thinking that they're such a big shot, they can just do anything they want. I might have _let_ him touch me if I'd thought his dick would be anywhere near as big as his ego.'

'But he's got...a wife, hasn't he?'

'It's nothing to do with that,' Aoi said shortly, 'It's about power. Everybody like that wants to prove they've got power over you, and the sick thing is, they do. I pretty much yelled my head off trying to tell everybody what he was like, but I'm just some deranged little mental patient, so nobody listens to _me_. And every time he comes to visit, they're rolling out the red carpet. Of course, he also gives a lot of money to this place. Funny how the world works,' he added bitterly.

'But...' Ruki shook his head, struggling to make sense of all the information he was trying to take in, 'But – _Uruha_.'

As one, both men seemed to slide their eyes towards Uruha's bedroom door, still firmly closed at this time of day. Aoi closed his eyes briefly.

'I know,' he said.

 

Breakfast that day was strangely tense, broken up by the sound of the rain still clattering down in sheets. It didn't look like June any more: the hills were sodden, half-hidden by grey mists, and the gravel drive leading up to the sanatorium looked washed-out and muddy.

Uruha dissected his breakfast thoroughly but hardly ate any of it; he was telling anybody who would listen that his father was bringing brunch from a fancy restaurant when he visited, whilst Aoi was stabbing at his food with such vitriol that Ruki was surprised he didn't break his bowl. Shinya was still absent, but Kyo sat alone down the end of the table, chain-smoking and concentrating fiercely on his breakfast; whenever Ruki tried to catch his eye, he found it impossible. Finally, feeling very conscious of the quiet tension in the room, Ruki cleared his throat and leant forward over the table slightly.

'Thanks for letting me sleep in your room last night,' he said quietly. He had somehow hoped that only Kyo would hear, but instantly a lot of the movement around the table stilled; Die's eyebrows shot up so far they almost seemed to join his hair, and Aoi leant back in his chair with a cigarette, watching Ruki and looking interested.

'It's nothing,' Kyo responded shortly, his eyes on his plate, his tone blunt and almost angry. Ruki hesitated.

'I guess this is your blanket,' he said in a weak voice, gesturing around his shoulders. 'Sorry, I shouldn't have taken it with me. I was cold. I'll put it back on your bed.'

'Sure.'

'Well...you know. Thanks,' Ruki said again lamely, and Kyo finally set down his chopsticks and looked at him.

'Who's Eiji?' he said blankly.

If the room had been quiet before, it went silent at that; even Uruha stopped counting under his breath, and Ruki was aware of a dreadful heat travelling up his face.

'Wh-what?'

'Eiji. It's a name, yes? You were saying it in your sleep.'

Ruki wasn't sure what was worse: the casualness with which Kyo had just decimated him, or Aoi's long, low wolf-whistle. Quickly, his face flushing so red he could feel it hotly in his cheeks, Ruki riffled through what vague little he remembered of his dreams: had he dreamt of E. O.? Oh god, if he had, what kind of dream had it been? How much could he have given away?

'I don't talk in my sleep,' he muttered faintly. He met Kyo's eyes square-on, trying his best to ignore the stupid grin on Die's face that he could see in his peripheral vision. 'I don't know any Eiji,' he said in a slightly stronger voice.

Kyo's stare was very, very level and very still. It seemed he knew what Ruki was about to say next, and his eyes neither begged him to stop or urged him onwards; they simply looked at him, some vague disappointment hidden in their depths.

'You must have been hearing things again,' Ruki said, only a slight shake in his voice. He wished more than anything that Kyo would stop looking at him, but the other man didn't; his gaze was completely unwavering, dark and inscrutable, hard as flint.

'Maybe so,' he said in a featureless voice. Finally, he turned back to his food, and Ruki let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

He should have felt relieved, but he didn't.

 

Around half past ten that morning, when they were sitting around in the TV room after another uncomfortably quiet group therapy session, the first of the parents arrived; there was a tap on the door frame, and Ruki turned to see two rather tall people navigating their way through the assault course of chairs. Even if he hadn't seen what Uruha's father looked like already, Ruki would have known that these were Die's parents; both were gangly like their son, broad-shouldered and rangy, and the man's face, when Ruki saw it, was close enough to looking like Die's that it made him feel sad. It had the same smile and the same nose and eyes, the same jaw and cheekbones, but it was smiling without a single glimmer of doubt in the eyes, and the cheeks were full and the chin gently rounded: Die's face, as it should have been. Standing next to his father, he looked especially like a skull, and he seemed embarrassed of it; he kept his arms folded tightly around his body and grinned mostly at the floor. His father clapped him on the back, making a hollow noise, and his mother moved forward to greet him; she was a very, very pretty woman, with a strong and rather aquiline face, but her smile was as warm and wide as her son's. She was dressed stylishly, her jacket well tailored and her feet in needle-heeled shoes, but she gave an endearing wobble as she reached up to embrace her son, and her perfectly manicured hand shook as she gently stroked his cheek, gazing at him as though she never wanted to look anywhere else again.

'Mum. Dad. You remember Aoi.'

'Aoi, sweetheart.'

'And...' Ruki realised Die was flapping a hand awkwardly at him, 'This is Ruki.'

'Ah,' Die's father peered at him good-naturedly, 'We've heard a bit about you. You're the one who tried to kill himself. Very glad you didn't succeed.'

'Thanks,' Ruki said, utterly confused: were these people real?

'And Aoi, how are you doing?'

'Still a raging homo, thanks.'

'Good, good,' Die's mother said distractedly. 'Where's that darling Kai gotten to? I've got a little something I think he'll like.'

As if on cue, Die's father pulled a brand new LP out of his briefcase, still in its cellophane packaging: _Let It Be_ , by The Beatles.

'I was going to post it,' Die's mother was saying, 'but I thought: no, after everything Die's told me, I'd really like to see the look on his face when he opens this one. It's not out in this country yet, but your father took a business trip to New York recently, and he remembered how much you all like The Beatles.'

Her voice was refined, but she spoke very fast, and as she did so she blotted a tear that threatened to undo her expertly applied make-up. No matter what she said, Ruki realised, her real conversation was going on silently with her son: her eyes were so full of love that it looked painful, and she kept finding excuses to touch him – pushing his hair back and smoothing his t-shirt over his shoulders.

'Kai had a freak out,' Die explained, 'He's still...I think he's a bit out of it.'

'Oh, that's a shame,' Die's mother said, but her lack of focus was almost comical; she had given up trying to blot her tears before they started, and the mascara around her eyes was dribbling.

'Let's go to my room,' Die said. He was smiling at her in a way could only be described as grateful, and Ruki thought he understood: it was worth thankfulness, to be loved that much.

 

The rain kept up throughout the morning, and into the afternoon. Ruki went off to his one-to-one session with Sato, and after he came out at midday, Uruha was sitting in the middle of the sofa and savagely biting at his fingernails; his parents still hadn't arrived. Ruki watched as he went too far with one, ripping it so that it bled; he made a soft noise of pain and stared down at his hands as if they'd betrayed him. There seemed to be a dreadful struggle going on beneath his skin, and at last he made a tiny moaning noise in his throat and brought the same finger of the other hand to his mouth, ripping that one so it bled too, evening up his hands.

In an easy chair, Aoi was slumped right down with a cigarette in his hand, glaring at nothing in particular; there was such a distinctly frosty atmosphere between them that, rather than joining in, Ruki quietly turned on his heel and set off aimlessly down the hallway, not really sure what to do with himself. A nurse had squirrelled some fresh clothes out of his room, but otherwise he still wasn't able to go in; it was very strange to think that Kai was behind that closed door, hurting in some indefinable way, and that there was nothing anybody was allowed to do to comfort him except to wait it out.

Waiting it out felt like cruelty.

Ruki stopped by the bank of phones, feeling uncertain. The bandage was still on his wrist from where he'd flipped out last time; suppose he wasn't allowed to make calls any more? He opened the door of one of the booths slowly, just in case, and kept his eyes on the nurse busy behind the plate glass window of the station; she gave him a short nod.

'Whenever you're ready,' she said, 'I can connect you.'

Ruki's throat was aching, but as soon as he sat down within the booth, he lit up a cigarette anyway. He got the next one out of the pack ready, picked up the receiver, and dialled. There was a brief pause as he was connected, and the phone only rang once before it was answered.

'Yes, hello?'

Ruki took a quick pull on his cigarette.

'Hi, mum.'

'Ruki! Oh, _Ruki_. How are you?'

'I'm...' he hesitated, 'I'm okay, mum. How are you and dad?'

'Oh goodness, we're fine; all fine. Let's see, what's going on with us? Well, your father came off his bike a few days ago, but no harm done. We've painted the kitchen; it's yellow now.'

'That sounds good,' Ruki said, feeling the beginning of a headache behind his eyes, 'It must look much lighter in there.'

' _Much_ lighter. I can't wait for you to see it. We wouldn't touch your room, of course, but we have just gone in and boxed up a few of your things, because we have a lodger in there now.'

'A lodger.'

'Yes, a lovely young girl. A student, just like you, but in her first year; I think her parents wanted her to live somewhere with a bit of familial influence.'

_So you didn't tell them about your crazy son, then?_

'She might be somebody you would want to meet, Ruki. We haven't told her anything about – what's happened – only that you're away; and she's really a lovely girl. _Very_ polite; very refined.'

'Yeah,' Ruki said tonelessly, 'Yeah, maybe.'

'She's a pretty thing, as well. _And_ she said you looked handsome.'

'Great. Any other news?'

'Oh, nothing that would interest you, I'm sure.'

'No...' Ruki lit his second cigarette from the smouldering end of his first, 'I want to know. I miss you.'

'Oh, Ruki. Oh, we miss you too.'

There was a crumple in her voice like she might have grown a little tearful; Ruki shut his eyes tightly.

'Well, let me have a think. The old lady upstairs passed away, which was very sad.'

'What? When?'

'Oh – a few weeks ago. I would have told you sooner, but I was a bit worried about giving you any upsetting news.'

Ruki's head was definitely throbbing now.

'Uh huh.'

'Well, and I passed a great big billboard the other day, and guess who was on it?'

'I don't think I'll guess.'

'It was that artist you like! The one who gave you all those private lessons! It seems like he's got a huge exhibition coming at the Tezukayama.'

Ruki felt an unpleasant jolt, as if he'd been standing in an elevator that had very suddenly dropped down a few floors.

'Wow,' he whispered.

'I knew you'd be excited about that. The show has some funny name – I can't exactly remember – something about youth; _Youth Reflections_ or something like that, something a bit fancy. Nothing much that your father and I can make head or tail of, but of course we'll be going along so we can tell you all about it. Oh, but what am I saying? You'll probably be home by then.'

'Maybe,' Ruki said, but he couldn't seem to make his voice work too well; it was drying up in his throat.

'We thought we'd wait for the crowds to die down a bit, because apparently they're expecting it to be very busy, but it's showing until November or December, I think. Isn't it amazing! To think that you took private tuition from him – well it just goes to show, Ruki. When you get back nice and rested, if you really put your mind to it, I'm sure the art world is just going to open up for you.'

 _Don't bank on it_ , Ruki thought. But he forced a smile onto his face, just as though she could see him, and he agreed.

 

All in all, the phone call dragged itself out for twenty excruciating minutes, throughout which Ruki's mother managed to remind him six separate times about E. O.'s wonderful exhibition, and all about its glowing early reviews, and how meaningful it was that Ruki had been hand-picked for one-to-one mentoring by such a successful person. The throb in Ruki's head had developed into a headache so strong he thought he might be sick, and his throat felt raw from inhaling so much smoke; head spinning, he almost slammed the door of the phone booth behind him, and gave only the merest spasm-like nod to the nurse before setting off down the corridor and hammering rudely on Kyo's door. He gave it a moment's shaky hesitation before knocking again, feeling like he might jump out of his skin; when there was no reply, he gave one more hard knock and then pushed his way inside, banging the door shut behind him so he could lean heavily against it.

Sitting over on his bed, Kyo raised an eyebrow.

'I need to lie down,' Ruki said in a rush, 'I still can't go in my room.'

Kyo's eyes were distant; inscrutable. 'Fine.'

But Ruki didn't lie down; instead he crossed over to Kyo's bed, picked up the pillow and, burying his head firmly within it, finally allowed himself to let out the scream that had been building up inside of him; he yelled at the top of his lungs, his throat a sharp little knife of pain and his lungs working painfully against all the tar and ash he'd inhaled; he screamed until his voice gave up entirely. When he lowered the pillow, he realised he was trembling and that a few tears had spilled from his eyes; they had blotted into the fabric to make a smeary imprint of his face.

'Didn't you hear me knocking?' he asked, his voice utterly hoarse.

'I wasn't sure if I was just hearing things again,' Kyo said lightly, and Ruki squeezed the pillow hard to his chest.

'You really dropped me in it this morning,' he said in a tight voice, his hands forming small fists so that his fingernails bit into his palms, 'With all that _Eiji_ stuff.'

'You found your way out of it.'

'Why the hell did you _do_ that?' Ruki asked furiously.

'Because you're lying to everyone.'

'I'm not lying.'

'Yes you are.'

Ruki squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe in and out, a few times, through his nose.

'How,' he said in a gritty voice, ' _How_ am I lying?'

'I don't know; who _is_ Eiji today? Is he some artist? Your mentor? Your—'

'Shut up!' Ruki burst, his fingers digging so tightly into the pillow that he felt the fabric begin to give beneath his nails, 'It's nothing to do with you! It's none of your business! You...' he swallowed grimly, forcing the panicky feeling back down into his stomach, 'You know what happened to Aoi. I _can't_ say. I can't.'

'You think any of us are going to tell on you?' Kyo said quietly.

'I don't...I don't know.'

'Yes, you do.' Kyo closed his eyes gently, for just a little longer than a blink. 'And that's not why you're lying.'

'No?' Ruki said challengingly, but flinched when Kyo met his eyes; the other man's gaze was hard as ice, cold and distant and bright as the furthest star; the intensity of it made him take a step backwards, his hands contracting involuntarily against the pillow, and there was a small ripping noise from beneath his fingers.

'No,' Kyo said calmly, his voice about a hundred degrees colder than his eyes were, 'You're lying because you're scared.'

'What exactly am I supposed to be scared of, apart from being locked up in here forever?'

'Who you are,' Kyo said, seeming to choose his words carefully. 'What you want.'

Ruki stared at him, feeling suddenly exhausted.

'You have no idea who I am,' he said, and Kyo shrugged.

'Correct. But neither do you.' He sighed heavily. 'The people here can help you, if you let them. But you have something that you've been carrying around inside you so long, it's starting to rot. I know you can feel it rotting, but you're still holding on to it. Don't you _understand_ that's why it hurts? Because it's eating away at you now, too?'

Ruki's eyes were glassy, his vision blurred, but he forced himself to look away, staring blankly at Shinya's empty bed.

'I don't have to listen to this,' he mumbled. 'You're crazy. Everyone here is crazy.'

'Mostly. But are you really any better?'

'I...' Ruki's voice broke, and he felt hot tears begin to course down his cheeks, 'I'm not mad.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. But I promise you this: if you don't give up that thing you're hanging onto, then you're never going to find out. Because I don't think it's going to leave much of you alive.'

 


	13. Chapter 13

It seemed to Ruki that the rain might have been slackening slightly; the clouds were still as grey and heavy as ever, but there were little chips of blue sky in the distance, and some of the far hills were topped with shining gold, like crowns. There was a hissing noise from somewhere below Kyo's window, and when he looked up he could see a very big, very shiny car snaking slowly up the drive, crunching the gravel beneath its spotlessly clean tyres; each individual wheel kicked up a miniature halo of glittering spray. When it pulled to a stop, Ruki's eyes widened; an actual chauffeur in a hat and a grey uniform and spotless white gloves had climbed out, and his shoes made a much quieter crunching sound on the gravel as he rounded to the side of the car and opened one of the back doors with a flourish.

Ruki was aware that Kyo was watching too, a strange look on his face, and the two of them drew closer to the window, Ruki letting the pillow slip to the floor and resting his shaking hands on the sill instead. A small flurry of feathers burst around their feet, and Kyo shot him a withering look.

 

Outside, a very slim white arm had appeared from the car door, the bejewelled fingers rested lightly on the chauffeur's outstretched hand as one of the daintiest, thinnest and haughtiest women Ruki had ever seen graciously rose from the back seat. She wore a sleeveless cream-coloured dress and dark red stilettos, and around her neck there was clasped a choker of gems too large to be fake, all rubies; from their distance, it looked as though her head had been cut off. She waited on the gravel, looking up at the sanatorium with an unreadable look on her face, as the chauffeur crossed to the other side of the car and opened the other back door, stepping back smartly so a well-dressed man could emerge. The chauffeur touched his cap respectfully, closed the door behind him, and then hurried to the back of the car to start removing packages from the trunk.

As Ruki and Kyo watched, the man joined the woman and touched her elbow lightly. In the clearer light, he was clearly recognisable: Uruha's father, just a little smaller and older than he looked on the television. His hair was thick and almost as shiny as his car, and he was dressed impeccably, though like his wife, he looked out of place; gleaming black shoes and an expertly fitted pale grey suit paired, not with a tie, but with a patterned cravat.

Ruki thought he could almost hear Aoi muttering scathing things in his ears, and shook his head irritably.

'He looks like _The Great Gatsby_ ,' he murmured, and Kyo shot him a quizzical look but didn't respond. He could hear a clattering in the hallway as people started moving; obviously they hadn't been the only two to notice the arrival of the car.

 

Ruki hadn't been planning to follow the flurry of movement towards Uruha's parents, but he heard something that made his heart seem to lift up a little higher in his chest; the sound of a tinny portable radio playing _Sunny Afternoon_ by The Kinks, which could mean only one thing: Kai. He was surprised at how eager he was to see his roommate, and was both entertained and slightly dismayed by the fact that after just one night, he had missed him a little: Kai could be annoying to room with – the constant crackle of the radio could get to you after a while – but he was sweet, and he was a bright sort of spirit; being in the same room as him, Ruki found it hard to truly believe in a lot of the bad things in his life. Even E. O. felt somewhat removed, like a character in a book.

After the conversation he'd had with Kyo, he felt uncomfortable, so he only gave the other man a sort of half-nod, half-bow before leaving his room. He thought his head hurt less than it had before, but it was also buzzing in a way he found uncomfortable; the things Kyo had said had both relieved and scared him.

It felt so good to have somebody look at him and say, so simply, that they thought he could fix himself.

On the other hand, it was terrifying to think of the connotations of that – of what that knowledge entailed; what it held within it.

He wasn't like Aoi. He could recognise that.

But he wasn't exactly like his parents, either.

Nor was he really like E. O., or even Uruha.

Miserably, he wondered where exactly he was supposed to fit; if there even _was_ a place for him. In the few long months he'd been at the sanatorium, it seemed that the strange layers of relationships between people had grown immeasurably more complicated.

 

_'And I love to live so pleasantly,_

_Live this life of luxury,_

_Lazing on a sunny afternoon...'_

Kai was singing quietly into his radio, as if it was a walkie-talkie and the people on the other end would be able to hear him, his fingers quietly tapping along to the rhythm against its back. He was sitting cross-legged on an easy chair in the TV room – the programme currently showing was something dull, some mid-afternoon talk show – and he didn't seem to notice when Ruki walked in; or at least, he didn't look up. When Ruki put an awkward hand on his shoulder, though, Kai suddenly found him and gave him a huge grin.

'Hi, Ruki! I missed you last night! You weren't there.'

'Hi. How are you feeling?'

Kai looked a little confused; he wrinkled his nose. 'Fine, of course.'

'But – I mean—'

A sharp slap suddenly caught Ruki across the back of the head; scowling, he looked up to find Aoi raising his eyebrows and drawing a brief finger across his throat; _shut up now_ , his eyes said, so Ruki simply dropped himself onto the sofa. Languidly, Aoi sprawled out on the floor, propping a cigarette between his lips and then lighting it.

'Uruha's parents are here,' Ruki said inanely, and Kai frowned at his radio.

'I don't like them,' he said.

'You tell 'em,' Aoi said lazily.

'Uruha's dad is a _bad_ man.'

'Damn right.' Aoi exhaled grey smoke. 'Ruki. You never told me how you made it out unscathed last night. Make any new friends?' He made an obscene gesture with his hand and mouth that made Ruki's cheeks feel hot.

'Don't be an idiot,' he muttered. 'Kyo's all right.'

'Kyo's a psycho. So are you two bestest friends forever now?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well.' Aoi raised his eyebrows, 'You were in his room just now, weren't you?'

Ruki hesitated, and Aoi laughed triumphantly.

'You probably don't need to play it quite so keen, you know. It's a loony bin, not a bar. I doubt he's had many other offers.'

'Shut up.'

'You're _blushing_!' Aoi took a deep pull on his cigarette, obviously enjoying himself. 'So, _do_ you talk in your sleep?'

'I—'

'Yes, he does,' Kai piped up.

'Interesting.' Aoi's eyes glittered. 'Is Eiji still somebody you don't know, or...?'

'No, it's...' Ruki rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, but he was spared having to answer; Uruha was pushing his way through the haphazard arrangement of chairs in the TV room, not leading but trailing behind his parents. He was smiling in a strange sort of way at the ground and Ruki could see where all his fingernails were red and sore, and some of them still had dried blood on them, flaky and the colour of rust.

 

He was carrying a lot of expensive-looking white boxes tied with black ribbons, which he set down on the coffee table and began to unpack, carefully untying the knots and smoothing the ribbons out so they lay in exactly straight lines down the length of the table. Pastries, fruit arrangements; there was a whole plate of thin salmon slices garnished with lemon and dill and some kind of roe; there was a lot of food that Ruki hadn't seen before in his life, and the ostentatious display both attracted and repulsed him slightly. There was more food than three people could ever eat, even if they were starving to death; he wondered what the Takashimas were trying to prove, except that they had a lot of money.

'Boys!'

Uruha's father really was much smaller than he looked on TV; he had only a few inches on Ruki, and stood just a little shorter than his wife, who looked as though she didn't care much for food anyway. She settled herself in an armchair and guided her son to sit next to him, keeping hold of his wrist even when Uruha started rocking uncomfortably back and forth in his seat; his father, though, beamed around the room and settled himself directly in the centre of the sofa.

'Please,' he said generously, 'Dig in. I know they like to give you a very wholesome, very _healthy_ diet here, but everybody can enjoy some treats now and again, right?'

Aoi blew smoke in his general direction.

'No thanks.'

'Aoi, isn't it? How are you keeping, son?'

'Still kicking against the pricks,' Aoi said, and Ruki heard Uruha's mother give a small sigh.

'Dad brought food for everyone,' Uruha mumbled suddenly, 'You should eat. Everyone should eat.'

'Uruha, sweetheart, don't _rock_ so. You'll make yourself ill.'

'Die and his parents should eat too,' Uruha went on, apparently talking to himself, 'Someone should get them. I should go and get them.'

He gave a big twitch and got to his feet, looking at least a little relieved to have yanked his hand away from his mother's manicured grasp; she gave a little groan and busied herself retrieving a cigarette from the shiny metal case in her handbag. She held it a moment, waiting, and finally Aoi got to his feet to light it for her.

'Ma'am,' he said in a just barely sarcastic tone, and she regarded him coolly.

'Thank you.'

'I'm so pleased Die is still around,' Uruha's father said in a public tone of voice. 'His parents are grand people. It's such a shame about his terrible condition.'

A quote Ruki didn't realise he had remembered from the book he'd lent Kyo jumped into his head: _Grand. There's a word I really hate. It's a phony. I could puke every time I hear it._ He gave an accidental snort of laughter that he had to turn into a coughing noise, apparently unconvincingly; Aoi met his eye, smiling in a wicked sort of way that showed his sharp canine teeth.

 

'You're a new face. What's your name?'

Ruki's eyes were watering slightly from the force of his fake cough.

'Ruki.'

'And how long have you been here, Ruki?'

'About two months.'

'And do you like it? My wife and I are just about the main benefactors of this place, you know. Anything you don't like, I'm sure we could have a little word or two about getting it changed. You know, if there's time, you should take me on a little one-to-one tour and show me where you're sleeping. I know you boys like to fix up your rooms; make them your own. Hey, why don't you have something to eat? You look like you could use a little feeding up. And – Die, there you are! How are you?'

Distracted, Uruha's father got to his feet and moved forward to greet Die and his parents, who were looking a little baffled at the spread of food. Die gave a half shrug.

'Hi, Mr Takashima. I'm okay. How are you?'

'Can't complain, can't complain, thank you. And you're having a visit today too; how wonderful. Please do join us. There's enough for everyone.'

He gestured widely, seemingly oblivious to the fact that nobody had made a single movement towards the food. Uruha had sat back down on just the very edge of his seat and was gripping his knees tightly with his poor torn nails. Die's family started doing a polite little dance around the food with Uruha's parents, a sort of _oh we really we couldn't – oh no you absolutely must – oh well maybe just a tiny bit – oh please, help yourselves to whatever you'd like_.

 

It was so weird how the world of grown-ups worked, Ruki thought. Already he could see Die's parents starting to feel bad because they'd only bought an LP instead of a gourmet brunch. What was the sense in that? He guessed the ostentatious generousness of the food was stopping Die's mother from mentioning the new record to Kai, and felt almost a bit angry. He slid his thumbnail into his mouth and began to chew on it thoughtfully; he wondered how much of a cleaner feeling place the world would be if people said what they really felt all the time.

He was still puzzling it out when he heard a sound that seemed to both stop his heart and inflate it to a painful size in his chest all at once; he dug his nails into his forearm urgently. The talk show had announced its next guest, and the live footage had been swapped out momentarily for some pre-recorded shots of a camera panning around an art gallery, the paintings achingly familiar even on that small black and white screen, and the voice talking about the work over the top of it all...

Not really aware he was doing it, he curled his hand into a fist and bit down on it, hard. The voice talking about the paintings overlaid itself with another, earlier voice in his head: _Ruki, Ruki. We're still trying to make a beautiful image, Ruki._

_Please, please, I'll make it so good for you._

_You're so beautiful I could eat you_.

He could taste blood against his teeth. The pre-recorded footage ended and the camera steadied itself on a sofa, where the energetic host in his smart suit was in complete contrast to his guest; a man in his forties with messy, windblown-looking hair, wearing a black turtleneck sweater and heavy-framed glasses, his legs outstretched elegantly, as if he was completely at home; he looked much more comfortable than the host, who was bouncing in his seat slightly and saying something like _very_ _pleased to present, in his first ever television interview, a true artist of our time..._

A fierce rush of love made Ruki feel almost dizzy. If only there was a way to make the pictures on a television stay put; if only he could record them in some way and watch them back forever, and dwell on that sweet, distant face with its silly glasses, its affected hairstyle; if only he could reach through the screen and become a part of that staticky, monochrome world.

Loss inflated inside him like a balloon; that was exactly how it felt, as if something alien was swelling and swelling within him, pushing out against his skin and distorting his bones, forcing them to mould to a new shape. He wouldn't have been surprised if he'd found a huge, raw wound had opened up in his chest. It felt incredible that such an intense pain couldn't actually kill him.

'Of course, as you can guess from the title, _Reflections of Youth_ , the exhibition itself is all about just that: youth. I wanted to marry two sources of inspiration; traditional ukiyo-e prints, and the fast-paced, destructive nature of the world of today. The world is changing so fast...our traditions, as a nation, are being burned through. I myself turned forty-seven this year, and I can recognise that today's generation of youth is very different to my own. But youth _attracts_ us; it's _compelling_. Youth is beautiful most of all because it is fleeting; it's ephemeral...it's the new 'floating world', so to speak. I wanted to immortalise that feeling.'

Something twisted sharply inside Ruki, and he lurched out of his chair and ran from the room, almost bouncing off the walls in his haste to get down the hallway; he threw himself into the bathroom and vomited hotly into one of the toilets, his whole body convulsing weakly. He retched again, his eyes watering, and flushed the toilet. Belatedly, he shut and locked the cubicle door behind him and leant against it. He was sweating, he realised; he could feel it standing out in droplets on his forehead. His face felt waxy, like a mask.

'Fuck you,' he whispered quietly, closing his eyes, 'Fuck you, Eiji.'

Carefully, he slid back the lock on the door and crossed over to the sinks to pick up his toothbrush. All the while he was brushing his teeth, he stared at his own face, noticing how wan the skin looked and how red the eyes; he looked like some disgusting blind creature from the bottom of the sea. The white underside of some fish floating belly up in polluted waters. He brushed vigorously and spat.

 

Back in the television room, when Ruki finally made his way there – he was caught and told off by a nurse on the way for not signing in and out of the bathroom, an admonition that flowed mostly directly over his head – there was some new tension; it seemed Uruha's parents were leaving already, and Uruha's face was starting to grow very red.

'But you only just _got_ here,' he said in his opinionated voice, and his father shook his head.

'Son, son, I'm sorry. But we have somewhere else to be, and we were held up in traffic this morning...'

'You stopped to get the _food_ ,' Uruha said stubbornly, 'Nobody's even _eating_ it!'

Die's parents had the frozen looks of people who were witnessing some great embarrassment and weren't quite sure what to do about it.

'Uruha, is that any way to speak to your mother and I? We planned this meal as a special treat for you and all your friends!'

Looking almost drunk, Uruha's mother got to her feet, smoothing her dress down carefully over her hips.

'Goodbye, darling,' she said, resting her cheek briefly against her son's, which made Uruha twitch heavily, 'We'll be seeing you soon. Maybe not this month, but July certainly—'

'Don't see us out, son. I know you're not allowed out of the ward at the moment. Wouldn't want to get you in trouble.' Ruki watched as he pulled his son into a hug that made Uruha go entirely rigid, even his jaw locking and his eyes going wide and frozen, but his father either didn't notice or didn't mind; he gave his son a thorough squeeze and then went around the room shaking hands, patting shoulders; he made to include Ruki on his route but must have noticed the bloody teeth marks on his hand, because he drew back and contented himself with a nod.

When they left, they left a lingering smell of expensive cologne in the room behind them, and Ruki could hear the sound of their expensive shoes tapping their way down the staircase. Uruha scratched at his cheeks hard, leaving livid red marks down them, and for once Aoi didn't seem to have anything to say; he was watching Uruha worriedly.

'Uru—' he started, but as if that had been the final straw, Uruha turned on his heel and stormed from the room, and a moment later they heard his bedroom door slamming.

Aoi sighed slowly. He hadn't made a single move towards the food that was laid out on the table, but now he picked up a dainty miniature cake that was about the size of his fist and garnished with edible flowers; he held it strangely though, like a baseball.

'I know what you're thinking,' he said in a low voice to Ruki, 'But if I get punished, it's still worth it.'

Moving leisurely, he opened up the window so fresh, rainy air streamed in, and took a deep lungful of it.

Then, for all the world like a professional pitcher, he wound his arm back and launched the cake very precisely through the bars, and Ruki just caught a glimpse of it sailing like a strange bird through the cloudy sky before he heard a gratifying _splat_ and a high-pitched, restrained sort of yelp.

'Oh good,' Aoi said. 'It was chocolate inside.'

 


	14. Chapter 14

There was a strange feeling in the air that afternoon, after the parents had left. It finally stopped raining, and the air lost its flinty smell, but nobody seemed to feel comfortable sitting in the TV room with the food from Uruha's parents still spread all over the table. Aoi was punished with the loss of his grounds privileges and banished to his bedroom, but Kai, Die, Kyo and even Shinya, tottering like a pale wraith, drifted to the music room to listen to Die's new _Let It Be_ LP. Kai was so excited about it that he was hopping on the spot, actually jumping for joy, but watching him, Ruki felt strangely hollow.

He heard in his head: _but youth_ attracts _us, it's_ compelling...

He had felt angry with E. O., and he had felt sad, and very often he had felt desperate and ready to forgive the other man for the whole horrible mess, including the loss of his scholarship and his expulsion from art school. This was the first time, though, that he was conscious of feeling real grief. It was as though it had taken seeing his former lover on television to realise that it was over, and that they would never be together again.

And that E. O. would continue on his path upward, with TV interviews here and exhibitions there, and all the while Ruki was locked up and stagnating, and going nowhere.

 

This thought took him past the music room, where his friends were gathered, without going inside. He could see them in there: they felt unreal too, as if he was only seeing them through a screen. He saw that Kai was bouncing up and down in his seat, and that Uruha was listening with this eyes closed and his chin in his hands, and that Die was holding one of the guitars from the cage of musical instruments and was trying to play along, biting down on his lip in irritation every time he hit a wrong note; he saw that Kyo was sitting on the floor underneath the window, his eyes closed and his head face tilted upwards, looking tired; he saw that Shinya was gazing into the pattern on a cushion, following it carefully with his eyes.

It made Ruki feel exhausted. He wondered what the hell the point of it all was: this bunch of pale ghosts huddled around the record player, listening to The Beatles play _Across the Universe_ _._

' _Nothing's gonna change my world,_

 _Nothing's gonna change my world..._ '

The gentle swell of the music seemed to push E. O.'s image even harder against Ruki's ribcage, like he was being suffocated from the inside. The sense of pressure was incredible: he couldn't see what was preventing him from simply splitting apart.

He went into his bedroom and shut the door behind him, relieved that everybody else was occupied and he could be alone. Kai's clash of posters on the wall seemed somehow touching, like toys left on the floor after all the children have gone to bed, and Ruki lay down on his bed, nestling into the covers. He pushed his nose against the blanket, but it didn't smell of anybody else; it only smelled like him.

 

He remembered how E. O.'s bed had smelled of his cologne, always – a strange, slightly bitter scent – and how the pillows had always smelled of his shampoo, or whatever wax or pomade he used to achieve that constantly rumpled look. He'd had a small bed, and all the sheets were white; everything in his apartment was white, from the rugs to the walls to the lampshades and electronics. The only splashes of colour had been his own works, mounted on the walls in white frames; that and Ruki himself, wandering through the glaring whiteness and feeling like he was the only thing alive for miles. It had made him feel like his heart was beating more, like his skin was warmer; like every inch of him was flushed with blood. He had worried at first that E. O. would hate the sight of his clothes puddled on the floor where they'd been pulled off him; he had taken to wearing all black or grey, like E. O. himself, so it was difficult to tell whose clothes were whose. Gradually, the colours had been phased out of his wardrobe altogether, and the thing that pained Ruki now was how much shameful enjoyment he'd gotten out of it at the time; as if he was stripping away something superfluous, narrowing down his life until it was thin enough to slot in next to the life of the man he loved. Now he remembered all the clothes he'd tossed – the weird army greatcoat he'd picked up at a thrift store that made him feel like a spy, and the egg yolk coloured scarf some sweet misguided girl in his class had knitted for him, and even the big psychedelic patch that said COME TOGETHER that he'd sewn onto his black rucksack; he'd ripped that off, opened his dorm window and fed it to the wind. Now he thought how much Kai would have liked something like that. The rainbow coloured CND symbol he'd worn pinned to his scarf; had he just binned it, like it was nothing?

'Groovy,' he muttered to himself, rolling restlessly onto his back. It had felt so worth it, at the time, to be dressed like E. O.; to look like they belonged together.

Roughly, Ruki reached up and ripped the postcard of E. O.'s painting, _The Student at Work_ , down from the wall. He wondered if anybody would ever know that it was him in the picture, and if anybody would ever know what it had done to him, because the painting had been the start of his entire downfall; E. O. saying it was him, and then putting his hand on Ruki's knee, and Ruki getting flustered and almost jumping to his feet – _you're old enough to be my father – quite nearly, yes_ – and the way the the older man had kissed him then, cold hands on Ruki's hot face, leg pressing insistently between his own.

 

His eyes flicking nervously to the door, Ruki gently eased his hand inside his pants. It was easy; clothes seemed to have been getting increasingly loose on him for the past few months. He slipped his fingers beneath the band of his underwear and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to relax; his mind felt like it was moving too quickly, and dozens of images were jostling for space in front of his eyelids, bright as flashbulbs: there was E. O. crawling over him on the pure white sofa, kissing the patch of skin behind Ruki's ear and murmuring to him, instructing him; _take off my pants. Do it_.

_Don't you want to find out what a man tastes like?_

He remembered he'd fumbled; the button on E. O.'s pants had been stiff and the older man had been distracting him, kissing his neck and whispering things like that in his ear. He'd been nervous, he remembered that, but once he'd got the clothing out of the way, the smell of the other man had gone to his head.

_Put your hand on me. Lick it._

_Put it in your mouth_.

Tentatively, Ruki's hand stole around his own cock, rubbing it gently. It was weird to be touching his own whilst thinking so much about somebody else's; it made him feel unsure what was real and actually happening. There were too many images; too many touches. They all blurred into one.

The first time they'd slept together, he'd been drunk. It came back to him now because it felt the same; the vagueness, the feeling of being almost outside of his own body. His dick was hard in his hand, but then E. O.'s dick had been hard in his hand, and he'd been stroking it as he climbed over Ruki's body: _can't you see how much I want you?_

Ruki made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, running his hand down the length of his cock.

Somehow or another E. O. got his clothes off; it seemed he did it without really moving. His dick nudged against Ruki's stomach, against his chest, smearing an indecent trail against his skin; he'd told him, _turn over._

 _Get on your hands and knees_.

_I'll make it so good for you._

Had he? Ruki could hardly remember, except for thinking that it had hurt at first. He had made a small squeak that E. O. had mistaken for pleasure, and Ruki hadn't corrected him because he hadn't wanted him to stop. He remembered how part of him had just felt so relieved to know that he had crossed that line, and that he couldn't be pushed any further; there he was, safe at rock bottom.

Sighing, he pulled his hand out of his pants and raked his hands through his hair. He was hard, but it felt so _wrong_ , thinking about a man and touching himself. Physically he felt almost horribly turned on, but inside his thoughts felt as though they were shifting constantly, quicksilver transformations from arousal to guilt, arousal to guilt, like a heart turning to stone and back.

He briefly wondered if Aoi had ever felt like this, but the thought of Aoi was enough to confuse him even more. Seeing him and Uruha together had turned him on, kind of – at least he had felt a kind of flutter in his stomach, and his cock had felt sort of flushed and heavy against his thigh – but more than that, it had made him feel unsettled and miserable. It made his head hurt: why did the feeling have to be so complex, so abstract? They were both attractive men, so if he really _was_ gay, wouldn't he...?

 

There was one short knock on the door, more of a dull thud, and Ruki jumped, quickly pulling himself upright and dragging a pillow over his lap.

'Yes?' he said in a voice that seemed a little higher than normal, and the door swung open to reveal Kyo looking at him. The other man's gaze was narrow and assessing, and Ruki's heart started to pound heavily; he couldn't have guessed what it meant.

'Dinner,' he said tonelessly.

'Oh,' Ruki said, feeling breathless. 'Thanks.'

Kyo swept his dark eyes over him, and Ruki felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He swallowed drily, trying to look innocent, but then their brown eyes seemed to clash and it happened; under the pillow, his cock twitched in his pants.

The shock seemed to send his arms numb, and he squeezed the pillow desperately.

'I'll be through in a minute,' he said. Kyo gave a single nod and then left him to it, thankfully closing the door behind him; Ruki snatched the pillow from his lap and buried his face in its coolness.

'Get a grip,' he muttered to himself. His cheeks were burning, and the blood in his veins felt very obvious. His hand slipped into his lap and rubbed himself just lightly through his pants; the feeling sent a shiver through him, and to his immediate embarrassment, a tiny groan slipped out of his lips.

The postcard of E. O.'s painting, _The Student at Work_ , was still on the bed next to it; Ruki picked it up and scrutinised it thoroughly, trying to distract himself.

 _This can't mean what I think it means_ , he thought, trying to bully his racing mind into rationality. _It's just that I was already turned on, and then he gave me a weird look. That's all._

But since when did a weird look make him feel like that? It was something peculiar in Kyo's stare; a feeling almost of penetration that left him feeling as though every secret in his head was written plainly on his face. It was a scary feeling, but it was also the cleanest, strongest feeling he knew, because it was the feeling of being seen; not just being looked at, but really seen. Understood, on every level, for what he was.

 

He could still feel his heart beating high in his throat, sexuality melding with his growing panic and making his pulse flutter. Food was the furthest possible thought from his mind, and the idea of sitting down at the table with all his friends was making him feel faintly sick.

It struck him how much easier it would be to simply disappear. To not exist. There would be no more feelings getting tangled up with each other until they were impossible to extract; he had the vague idea that he could lie dying and as the time grew nearer, he could sort of throw oil on each of his various moods one by one, and seeing what they really were at their peak: the scared peak, the angry peak, the sad peak, the aroused peak, the humour peak. Maybe it would all finally, finally make sense, and even if it didn't, he wouldn't have to care any more.

And he was in a room with a wall stuffed full of pills. Ruki's gaze slid towards the loose panel of skirting board: it would be so easy.

No more E. O.

No more memories.

No more having to wash his body and stuff it into clothes, no more eating, no more trying to1 keep himself entertained.

Just dark and quiet forever, without the confusion and the fear.

There was another thump at the door, and Ruki almost jumped out of his skin.

'Yes?' he said, trying hard to keep himself together. The door opened, and Kyo was looking at him with eyebrows raised.

'Are you finished masturbating yet?' he asked bluntly, but then the expression on his face changed – or maybe it didn't change; there hadn't really been much expression there to begin with, just Kyo's usual deadpan face, but it had, in some undefinable way, softened slightly. His eyes lost their hard-edged look and his jaw, untensed, looked less harsh; carefully, shooting Ruki a strangely tentative look, he slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him. Moving in a wooden sort of way, uncomfortably, he sat down on the bed next to Ruki and stared down at his knees. The postcard of the painting was on the bed next to him, and he gave Ruki another uncertain sort of look before he picked it up and studied it.

'This is you,' he said, not even a question.

'Yeah.'

'Your boyfriend painted this.'

'...Yeah. He did.'

Ruki realised that he could smell Kyo – the same scent that had been on his bedsheets, soap and whatever innate smell his skin had. It was comforting, and he wanted more of it, but it made his stomach do that uncomfortable fluttering motion again.

Another conflict. Another tangle. Ruki rubbed his hands tiredly over his face.

 

'Eiji painted it shortly before we got together,' he said in a weary voice. 'Eiji Okada, the artist. I guess it was the trigger. He was just my mentor then, but I was in love with him. Before anything happened, I sort of kidded myself into believing that it was a different sort of love. Like I just loved him because he was my hero or something; I never actually would have slept with him.'

He eyed Kyo soberly, drawing some kind of comfort from how still Kyo kept his face; listening, but not reacting, simply examining the postcard.

'We were together for two years,' he said, 'And I loved him, and he said he loved me. But we had to hide it. He always said we had to hide it, and I was so stupid that I never once even questioned why.'

Ruki stared at the picture blindly. 'Then one day,' he carried on, 'Not long ago, he just – told me it wasn't working out. He said I was too young. September can't marry May. All of that. I think he's fucking somebody else now. Another student, I mean.' Ruki gave a rough shrug. 'The thing is, he changed me completely. He...it's not that I didn't want him, but he pushed me into things, and I just felt myself change. I became this cynical person; I started becoming just like him. I can't remember what I was like, not loving him. I changed everything about myself for him, and now I don't know who I am. And I feel so _confused,_ but I'm so _tired_ of being confused. I just want everything to be simple. I just wish it could all – just – _stop_. I want it to stop. I want out. I'm – done.'

He suddenly smiled, but it was more like a grimace. 'I don't know why I'm telling you all of this.'

Silently, Kyo lit up a cigarette. He looked ill-at-ease, like he was struggling for words; he opened his mouth, but then closed it and shook his head.

Finally: 'It's the thing you're hanging onto,' he said in his hoarse voice.

'I guess it is.'

'So _fuck_ him.' Kyo took a drag of his cigarette and held it in, so his next words were croaky with smoke, 'Fuck him, fuck all of his shit, _fuck_ him. He's a dick, he's scum, whatever. Fuck him.'

Despite himself, Ruki felt his lips twitching.

'I was thinking about killing myself, and that's your advice?'

'Yes, that is my advice. If somebody hurts you, fuck them. They're dirt. Shit. Nothing. Fuck _that_.'

Almost angrily, he pressed his packet of cigarettes into Ruki's hand. 'Do you still love him?'

Ruki could have laughed, because which answer was he supposed to give to that – yesterday's, today's, tomorrow's? He had no idea.

'I do,' he said once he'd lit up. 'But...'

'But.'

'But I sort of hate him, too,' he said quietly. 'He sort of – he sort of makes me _sick_.'

He suddenly shot a curious look at Kyo, eyeing him through the smoke of his cigarette: 'Why are you being so nice to me?' he asked suspiciously.

'I'm always nice.'

'Everyone keeps telling me that you're this psycho headcase.'

'Everyone, or Aoi?' Kyo asked drily, and Ruki flushed slightly.

'But why _are_ you being so nice to me?' he pushed, and Kyo gave an uncomfortable sort of shrug.

'I don't know. You gave me the book.'

'That was _ages_ ago.'

'Yes but you see, it still happened.'

Kyo stood up stiffly, stretching out his arms. 'Also, you offered to go outside with me.'

'Yeah, so?'

'So it's been about a decade since I've been outside,' Kyo explained shortly.

'Yeah, but that doesn't really answer my question,' Ruki said, and Kyo made a frustrated sort of noise.

'You've been nice,' he almost hissed, 'Is what I'm saying. You've been nice to me.'

'But...hasn't anyone else?' Ruki asked, and Kyo favoured him with a withering look.

'This conversation is over,' he said blankly. 'I want to eat.'

'Okay.' Ruki paused. 'Me too.'

It was true. All at once, he felt positively ravenous.

 

Dinner that night was safe and happy feeling; it wasn't exactly clear why, but either the family visits or the subsequent ending of those visits had put the assembled company into a comfortable, relaxed sort of mood. Uruha had put sticking plasters over his two poor ripped nails, and Aoi was in high spirits despite his afternoon of being banished to his room; he was playing some sort of very silly game with Kai and Die, which Ruki didn't really understand until Die stuck both chopsticks between his upper lip and his teeth, flopping his hands like flippers and making a strange crooning noise; Kai grew so excited he clapped his hands and exclaimed, ' _I Am The Walrus_!'

'Not fair,' Aoi complained, 'I was going to do that one.'

'That's all right,' Die said lightly, his words somewhat distorted by his chopstick tusks, and with deadly aim, flicked a large piece of fried egg at his friend's face, 'You can still do _I am the egg man_.'

'Yeah?' Some egg whizzed back across the table at Die, 'How about, _we are the egg men_?'

'You guys are such _nerds_ ,' Ruki said before he could stop himself. Die gave him a bewildered walrus look.

'We are not _nerds_ ,' he said with as much dignity as he could muster, 'We're crazies. Nutjobs. Raving loonies. And...' he took careful aim and flicked a pea at Ruki, 'So are you.'

'Die,' a nurse said warningly, and he took the chopsticks out of his mouth and grinned, leaning across the table towards Ruki.

'See?' he said. 'They're scared of us.'

 


	15. Chapter 15

The good mood around the sanatorium seemed to prevail as the summer wore on and deepened, and the days grew longer. The warm breezes that had characterised May and June died, and the weather grew breathless and still; the hills surrounding them gave the sense of being in a sort of stupor, and the heat felt almost liquid. The sanatorium was a modern-looking building but it wasn't air conditioned, and so the place spent days on end with every window flung wide open in a hope of tempting a non-existent breeze in through the bars. The sky was a somnolent blue, and Ruki spent more and more time wandering beneath it, walking mostly in silence but never alone, because Kyo was always with him.

It was a strange system; they hadn't spoken about it much. If they did talk it was only about the most fleeting of subjects; the way a cloud looked on the horizon, or about a record that might have been playing in the music room, or about the birds they saw, which Ruki couldn't identify but Kyo could. Pheasants with iridescent green feathers strutting through the meadows, their peculiar calls echoing in the still air, and small, chattery swifts swooping around the hilltops. They heard the calling of a bird that Kyo said was a nightjar, and the occasional cuckoo, and once or twice they saw the sun-drenched outline of a larger bird, a crane or stork, soaring across the sky like a great white flying myth. When Ruki asked where Kyo had learnt so much about the birds, he just shrugged.

'I've lived in Kyoto all my life,' he said; a small detail, but one that Ruki found himself storing away inside his mind like something precious, a little hint of clarity in Kyo's otherwise murky, unmentioned past.

 

The strange thing was that, though the lack of conversation started out feeling slightly uncomfortable, Ruki adjusted to it much more quickly than he'd thought he would. Conversely, it made him feel like there wasn't a great deal he couldn't say to the other man, and as the summer wore on he found himself confiding more and more of himself to his new friend. It happened slowly, in perhaps one ten-minute slot during an hour-long walk; and what was funny to Ruki was the way Kyo always seemed to expect it. He had a habit of slowing his walking or stopping altogether, and simply studying the sky or the grass for a while until Ruki finally spat out whatever he had to say. He rarely asked questions, but instead seemed to simply let Ruki's haltingly delivered words slide over him, like he was standing underneath a slow drip and was waiting for it to soak him entirely through.

 

It was on a particularly sticky day in mid August when they climbed the highest peak Ruki could see from the sanatorium windows; a rugged, tough journey, but also something of a celebration; after weeks of good behaviour, Ruki's time limit outside had been extended; he was now allowed to be out for two hours at a time instead of the usual one. When they reached the top they were both slightly out of breath, and Ruki thought ruefully of the tens of thousands of cigarettes they had probably smoked between them throughout their lives.

'When did you start smoking?' he asked Kyo conversationally as the older man eased himself up onto a flat, hot-looking rock, lifting up his t-shirt slightly to get some air to his skin. Kyo wrinkled his nose.

'Eleven, twelve. Cigarettes were always in the house and my parents never cared. You?'

'When I met Eiji. When we were first getting to know each other, when he was still guest lecturing, he took me and a few other students out to a bar. We were a sort of group, I guess. Like a little fan club.'

He took a cigarette out of his packet and lit it but didn't inhale, just sort of toyed with it in his fingers as grey smoke curled up into the sky. 'I wanted...time alone with him,' he mumbled. 'So when he sort of interrupted himself once to say he had to get more cigarettes, and I just said, _oh, me too_. So that way we got to walk to the convenience store together. But then I had to buy some, and smoke them.'

He remembered how awkwardly he'd fumbled with the packet as he stuck his first ever cigarette between his lips, and how suddenly embarrassed he'd been to realise that he didn't have anything to light it up with. His face had gone immediately red, but then Eiji had laid a brief hand on his cheek, and used it to guide the tip of Ruki's cigarette into the flame of his own lighter. He remembered how the cigarette had tasted then; how hot the smoke had felt in his throat, and how exciting, blurred inexorably with the light touch on his face. He gave his head a slight shake. The image had a strong presence, almost physical; he wanted to bat it away.

'I did that a lot,' he said, his voice suddenly forceful, 'Do things I didn't want to do. First to attract him, and then to keep him. I was never _good_ enough, the way I was.'

'You're good enough.'

'He didn't think so.'

 

Kyo shrugged awkwardly, hunching over to light a cigarette of his own. The sun was hanging about halfway down in the sky and it lit him up entirely golden; his hair shone and his skin glowed with an aura the colour of body heat. For a moment, the outline of his basic shape was visible in silhouette through the baggy institutional clothing, and Ruki felt his breath perform a strange sort of hitch in his throat. They were around the same height, but Kyo was a completely different shape to him: his body was a series of lines that were the natural extension of his strong, sharp jaw and precisely cut eyes; the torso was angular, bone and muscle, diagonal slashes separating chest from hips, hips from groin. There was a peculiarly fuzzy sort of feeling in Ruki's stomach; a strange sort of lightness in his head. He wanted to touch them; to trace those lines. He wanted to follow them with his fingers and find where they ended, or follow them back to their sources; the twin wells of collarbones and sternum, the tiny oasis of belly button in the flat stomach. He wanted to feel it all.

He spun around abruptly, taking a deep drag on his cigarette to calm his rattling nerves. His stomach was still fluttering pleasantly, and he could feel his dick stirring warmly against his thigh, starting to harden. He sat down on low a boulder and crossed his legs quickly.

'It's good to be outside,' Kyo said quietly. He held his cigarette loosely at his side as he straightened up, the sun reflecting in his eyes. 'I almost thought it wouldn't happen again.'

'Why didn't you ever go out with a nurse or something?

A wry sort of smile quirked at the corner of Kyo's mouth.

'They're all scared of me. You saw it the night you slept in my room.'

'You still haven't told me why,' Ruki said, and Kyo gave a short, humourless sort of laugh.

'You'd never believe me,' he said.

'Try me.'

Kyo gave him a soft, almost beatific smile. 'No.'

'But...maybe this is the thing that's eating you up.'

'There's nothing eating me up.'

'But you have a secret.'

'Secrets aren't bad.'

'That wasn't the line you took when _I_ had a secret,' Ruki said grudgingly.

'You were keeping things a secret from yourself, though. It's different.' Kyo shaded his eyes against the sun. 'I know exactly who I am, and what I did.'

'So how do you expect me to trust you, if you keep everything back from me?' Ruki pushed, feeling argumentative. He knew it was mostly because he was flustered, almost angry at the other man for turning him on and for continuing to sit so calmly whilst Ruki's dick was getting stiffer and stiffer in his pants, but he couldn't seem to stop.

'I don't expect you to trust me.'

'Yes you do,' Ruki retorted. 'You took me up here. There's nobody else around, and even if I screamed so loud somebody heard, they'd take about half an hour to reach us.'

'You're right. You're trusting me not to kill you,' Kyo said in a musing voice.

'Right,' Ruki agreed in a bad-tempered voice, 'But I don't know anything about you. I know your name, how old you are, and where you're from. That's _it_.'

'What do you want to know?' Kyo said in a flat voice. 'I'm deaf in one ear. I work out to keep strong but I still get sick all the time. I eat all the things you eat. Sleep a lot. I've been locked up for twelve years; this place is my personality now. I used to be self-conscious until I got prodded and poked and evaluated by so many strangers. I've had a dozen therapists and I tell them the same truth over and over, but it's never good enough. I'm this place all over. Like a bad dream.'

'What do you want to do when you get out of here?' Ruki pressed, and Kyo snorted.

'I'm never getting out of here.'

'You don't know that. What's even supposed to be _wrong_ with you?'

'I had a psychotic episode,' Kyo said shortly, 'Once.'

'Just once?'

'That's right.'

'What, so that means you get to be punished _forever_?'

'That all depends which therapist you ask,' Kyo said drily. 'Did I know what I was doing? Didn't I? Had I lost touch with reality or hadn't I? They don't want to believe my answers.'

'So where does that leave you?'

Kyo shrugged. 'Can't go backwards. Can't go forwards.'

'But that's—'

'Yes, I know how it is.' He took a deep drag from his cigarette. 'This conversation is boring.'

'You always say that when you're doing all the talking.'

'So you talk,' Kyo retorted mildly. 'Tell me about the maps.'

Ruki sighed. 'The maps were stupid.'

 

The maps had been what he was working on when everything with Eiji had started to feel unsteady. It was like something in a cartoon, where the main character has an earthquake tear a great fissure in the ground just below their feet, leaving them straddling the empty space over the guts of the earth; that had been exactly how it had felt. For a lot of the time Ruki had been making the maps, he had felt a lot of those initial tremors, little practice quakes shooting through the skin of his planet, and he had been panicking.

In some superstitious way he thought the maps were maybe part of it.

It had started when he was thinking about how much time he spent walking around the city and daydreaming. It struck him that an outside observer would say that his experience of the time would be the walk itself, whereas _his_ experience of the time would be the daydream that had occupied it. In which case, where was he really? Once he had started tugging on that thread, many others had started to unravel, and that was how he had started making his maps. The abstract, doubling-back, scribbly shapes of his routes had become suddenly bedecked with flowery illustrations, the same way that stars can become constellations with generous outlines, but the problem with that had been the image: too decorative, too random; truthfully, too explicit to be shown to anybody but Eiji.

So Ruki had started thinking of other things that the body did. Maps were always made in metres and kilometres; those were the units for measuring the distance between two points, but what did they say about the experience of the journey? A fat lot of nothing, in Ruki's opinion. So, working in pared-back colours on a painstakingly hand-drawn grid, he had begun to think about his own body. He had recorded his statistics from place to place; how many steps it took him to walk a block, how many breaths he took in that time, how many beats of his heart it took to get from his dorm to his classes, from his classes to Eiji's apartment. He noticed the journeys his heart sped up on, and his work became suddenly flushed with life, as if it had been doused with blood himself. For a time the maps had seemed like the best thing he had ever made. They had felt pure and truthful and interesting in a way nothing really had before, and perhaps that had been the first ominous rumble on the horizon: the maps were sometimes – not always, but sometimes – a little more alluring than suffocating in a smoky bar with Eiji and his moronic entourage.

Thinking it now sent a strange thrill up Ruki's spine, almost a scared feeling, as if Eiji could read his thoughts.

Eiji had talked to him very gently about the maps. He had used words like _ambitious_ and _execution_ like a paternal sort of teacher: _it's a very ambitious project, Ruki, but I'm just not sure about the execution..._

And then the quote he had meekly nodded along to at the time, but inwardly rankled against fiercely: _we're still trying to make a beautiful image, Ruki_.

But he had been walking through the dirty, ashy, rainy streets and not a single thing had been beautiful, not even the architecture or the people or the gasoline rainbows puddled on the concrete; nothing. Every time he tried to appreciate something, he felt like he ended up choking on car exhaust instead. At night, the sky glowed a toxic orange, and the moon hung around in the sky like a chewed-off fingernail, dirty and jagged at the edges.

Eiji had said, in a voice so impatient that it rattled like glass, that there was beauty everywhere and an artist's job was to find it.

Gradually, Ruki had started to see things his way, and in the end he had poured the ink all over his work half out of disgust for it, and half as a desperate declaration of love. In either case, though, he had been too late.

 

Stuck with an erection on top of a mountain in Kyoto, Ruki thought those times seemed almost quaint now. How was it possible that everything had felt so important at the time? Every little moment of tension, every fuck, every kiss, all the maps and the walking and the arguments about ugliness and beauty; all of them had served to distract Ruki so thoroughly that the real problems just couldn't squeak through: that he felt sad all the time, and tired all the time, and that food was boring and sex was predictable and that it was taking him longer and longer to recognise his own face in the mirror. With no Eiji and no maps, that was all that was left. Ruki wondered what there would be inside him if those things ever went away; maybe there wouldn't be anything at all.

Except, he thought irritably, maybe lust. He willed his erection to go away, but it seemed that every time Kyo brought his cigarette to his lips, it sent another throb of desire through Ruki's body. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat, feeling the head of his dick push against the fabric of his pants, and leant forward in what he hoped was a casual way. If he stood up, he would be revealed for sure, and what shocked him was how the thought of that made him not only feel anxious but also, in some strange way, sent a little rush of lust through him, a sort of spark straight to the core. Suppose Kyo noticed, then what? The thought made his cock twitch between his legs, but he seemed to be unable to picture what would happen next.

'It'll be autumn soon,' Kyo said, speaking quietly over Ruki's thoughts. 'It'll start raining, and then it'll snow.'

He tilted his head back, following the progress of a swallow through the sky.

'What happened when you had your psychotic episode?' Ruki asked, and Kyo was silent for a while, words coming together behind his eyes.

'I had a long dream,' he explained at last, shortly.

'Of what?'

'Being eaten,' Kyo said, studying his cigarette as if reading answers in the smoke, 'Being digested. It changed, like dreams do. But it was always some dark, enclosed place, something like a basement or a stomach or the bottom of a well. The only light was distant and red, like it was coming through skin. And there was something waiting.'

'Waiting to what?'

'To feed,' Kyo said simply. He caught the look on Ruki's face and gave him a brief smile.

'But what really _happened_?'

'I didn't want to become the prey, so I fought against it. That's what I mean when I say I don't regret it. There wasn't a choice. I didn't want to die, so I chose to live.'

'But _how_?'

Kyo hesitated over that for a long time again, but in the end he merely shrugged.

'I can't explain,' he said. 'It was a dream; it's hard to remember. Dreams always are.'

'But you know what happened outside?' Ruki pressed, 'In the real world, I mean?'

Kyo fiddled with his cigarette, digging his thumbnail into the filter and peeling back a little of the paper. He was staring at the patch of rock between his knees fixedly.

'Yeah,' he said finally, 'I know. They told me.'

 

There was a strange tone in his voice that stopped Ruki from asking any more questions. Kyo's head was still lowered, his hair falling forwards to hide his face, and there was something soft in his voice that Ruki had never heard from him before. He had heard Kyo speak gently – although admittedly, on very few occasions – but this was different; it was soft because it was almost weak; almost vulnerable.

It was discomfiting, and Ruki shifted uncomfortably where he sat. He felt like he wanted to say something reassuring, like _it'll be okay_ , but that felt meaningless; it wasn't a promise he could make. _I'm sorry_ sounded stupid, too, when he didn't know what he was sorry for. Nothing seemed to fit.

Instead, acting on impulse so quick he didn't have time to talk himself out of it, Ruki reached out and clutched Kyo's hand in his own, squeezing it tight.

Kyo's hand was bigger than his own, with longer fingers, and although it was a hot day the palm was cool. He didn't curl his hand around Ruki's, but kept it rigid, and as soon as they'd touched the line of his shoulders had become hard and tense; his whole body seemed to stiffen. He shot Ruki a short look, something like uncertainty in his eyes, and then dropped his gaze to their conjoined hands. Ruki felt suddenly very aware of how quiet it was; the whole landscape around them, the silence as thick as the heat.

'We should go back,' Kyo said. His voice was strange, almost nervous. 'It's getting late.'

'Yeah,' Ruki said, but he didn't move; neither of them did. They sat on the rocks, both of them bathed in golden light, Ruki shading his eyes against the sun and Kyo staring at the ground, quietly clasping hands.

 

_Eiji—_

_I remember the last time we fucked._

_Do you remember that I woke you up in the middle of the night, pressing myself against you, and you didn't know why? I wasn't sure why either, but I know now. It was because I sensed that it was our last night together._

_The sex felt like every time we'd ever done it, rolled into one. I couldn't tell fact from fiction then; what was really happening in the moment, and what was just my memory. Everything from the last two years got compressed into a few minutes. It was every single kiss and touch. Like flicking through an archive. I knew it could only ever have been the last time, because I could see everything from beginning to end – I mean because I could finally see everything from the beginning, I understood that it had to be the end. It was like standing on a dark stage with a spotlight and then suddenly having the house lights go up, and being able to see everything, and so knowing the show was over. Does that make sense?_

_You fell asleep afterwards, but I couldn't sleep, because I knew that thought had only occurred to me, and that you would never understand. To you it was just like everything else with_ _no history at all._

_Eiji, I've never been turned on by any man but you. How am I supposed to figure out what it's supposed to feel like, or if I like it or not? How am I supposed to understand any of this without you?_

_Congratulations on your big exhibition, by the way. 'Reflections of Youth'? Cool name. I hope it fucking fails._

_Fuck you._

 


	16. Chapter 16

It was hard for Ruki to put into words why, but after that day on the hilltop, he began to avoid Kyo. It wasn't just that he felt awkward around him, though that was certainly a part of it, but more that he felt almost a little scared of him.

Or not _of_ him, not exactly. It was more that he felt scared of the way Kyo could make him feel sometimes, inside. He was frightened that he'd catch another hint of the other man's body, or of his skin, and that he'd get hard again, and that would prove that it wasn't just a fluke borne out of lack of sexual activity; it would prove...

Ruki wasn't exactly sure what. The idea felt too big for his head whenever he tried to process it, so he left it alone.

He was surprised how easy it was to avoid a person you lived in the same building and shared all mealtimes with. Kyo mostly kept to himself, so unless Ruki sought him out, he could be reasonably confident of not running into him too often; even at dinner Kyo always sat in the same seat, so all Ruki needed to do was try to place himself at the opposite end of the table.

Even so, he couldn't help himself from just looking at him, just occasionally.

He wondered why it was him of all people.

 

Of all the men around him, Kyo couldn't exactly be called the most attractive. His face was hard-edged and never lapsed into the charming sort of smile that Die or Kai's faces did; his eyes were sharp, almost too dark, cut very precisely into his face, and often suspicious-looking. His lips were the only soft part of him; everything else was a series of hard lines and angles, improbably placed, and his face had a strange air of history about it, like something drawn in a brush and ink. His general expression was one of tiredness, and he often had shadows under his eyes. Even his body was hard, lean, an unyielding sort of body without any soft places; it didn't move gracefully or sultrily, like Aoi's did; there was no sway to his steps. His hair was black and it looked soft but was often messy, as if he had raked his hands through it many times. Sitting all alone, speaking to nobody, he could have been carved from stone.

He lived in a mental asylum, and he still managed to be the weird one. Ruki knew that thought should have repelled him, but instead it just made him feel somehow soft – soft, and a little defensive. The world was full of plenty of people that were weirder than Kyo was.

 

'Well, how are you getting along?'

Sato's office had every window open, but still it was stifling. The doctor had hung his white coat on a hook on the back of the door, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and the buttons at the throat undone; he could almost have looked like a normal person, except for the neatness of his moustache. He must have cut it against a ruler, Ruki thought.

Down the corridor, he could hear the distant sounds of a minor uproar in the music room; David Bowie was the current artist of choice and it seemed that any time of the day or night, you could hear Die and Aoi bawling along to _Space Oddity_ , doing a strange slow walk as if they were floating through space and waving their hands to bat away the passing stars.

'Better,' Ruki said.

'That's good news. Why do you think that is?'

'I don't know. Going outside more.'

'You've made quite a close friend recently, yes?'

Ruki gave the doctor a flat look. 'I don't know,' he said tonelessly, lighting his first cigarette of the session.

'Well...' Sato clucked his tongue lightly, 'I think you probably do know. Tell me about Kyo.'

'There's nothing to say. We just walk together. He had nobody else to go with and I felt sorry for him.'

'He could go with a member of staff.'

'He's not a _loser_ ,' Ruki blurted rudely, and had the grace to flush slightly. 'Sorry.'

Sato just blinked. 'Do you feel he understands you?'

'I don't know. I guess.'

'Do you talk about family? Relationships?'

'We mostly just walk,' Ruki said, rubbing his temples tiredly. 'I don't think Kyo is much to do with anything.'

'You seem defensive, Ruki.'

'I just don't see why we're _talking_ about this.'

'All right,' Sato said levelly. He turned to a new page in his notepad and scrutinised Ruki over his desk. 'Let's move on then, shall we?'

Ruki blew smoke in the general direction of the window.

'Sex, then. Any sexual relationships before you came in?'

He almost choked on the tail end of his exhale; shooting Sato an angry look, he flicked ash violently onto the carpet.

'That's sort of personal.'

'Yes, but therapy is sort of personal. Any sexual relationships?'

'Yes.'

'More than one?'

Ruki looked at the doctor blankly. 'I've had one sexual relationship,' he said in a plain voice. 'Happy?'

'That's fine. I'd like to ask you to think about that relationship, if you can, and try to answer all my questions honestly, even if they feel a bit embarrassing. Okay?'

Ruki's filthy look very clearly said that it wasn't okay at all, but Sato just cleared his throat and adjusted the rolled up cuffs of his sleeves.

 

'Generally speaking, how did you find sex with your partner?'

'It's sex. It's good, isn't it?'

'I don't know. Was it?'

Ruki deliberated, flicking the butt of his cigarette with his thumb. 'Sometimes.'

'Was it a long-term relationship?'

'Yes.'

'So you felt reasonably comfortable with sexual activity?'

'Define “comfortable”,' Ruki said acidly. Sato gave him a mild look.

'Well, did you experience any nervousness? Any physical problems?'

'I can get it up fine, thanks.'

'Good to know, but that's not really what I'm asking. What I want to know is whether or not you felt anxious or fearful of sex.'

Ruki hesitated for a long while, toying with his cigarette until it more or less burnt down, and then lighting up another. 'Everyone's nervous the first time,' he mumbled at last.

'But you had intercourse more than once with this partner?'

'Yes, but...'

'But you felt nervous?'

'Well – sometimes. Only because – my partner was more experienced. I didn't want to look stupid.'

He was aware that his heart was beating a little high and fast in his chest, and that the colour was rising in his cheeks. Not only was the conversation embarrassing, but he was having to be so careful not to let slip Eiji's name or refer to him as _he_ that it was driving him to distraction.

'So you felt inadequate?'

'Not inadequate exactly. I just...I felt like I had to work hard to keep my partner interested. Like I always had to be more daring or more...I don't know,' Ruki finished uncomfortably, his face definitely hot now. His own memories were making matters worse: how many things had he done, humiliating things, stupid things, to keep Eiji interested? Wearing no underwear under his clothes and feeling self-conscious all day, all for the split-second when Eiji would sit next to him in the university cafeteria and grope briefly at his cock under the table; kneeling up on the hard wooden floor of Eiji's studio and stroking himself off as the older man drew him, his body aching all over from the effort of not coming until Eiji had finished sketching, his cock dripping, legs trembling...

He looked blindly out of the window.

Having Eiji come on his face or his chest and being told he wasn't allowed to wash it off. Eiji putting things inside him, toys, and making him walk around the apartment that way. Letting Eiji tie him face down to the bed and lying there until his muscles were cramping and he was rutting against the sheets to give himself some relief, and then hearing the click of the older man's camera.

 _Reflections of Youth. God, you're such a fucking asshole_.

'Did you feel _valued_ , as a sexual partner? Did you feel like you could talk to your partner about your anxieties; that your relationship was intimate emotionally as well as physically?'

Ruki stubbed out his cigarette.

'I don't want to talk about it.'

 

By the time Ruki walked into the music room, an almost visible cloud of bad mood hanging over his head, David Bowie had been swapped out for Die's _Magical Mystery Tour_ LP, and Aoi was more or less draped over a winged armchair, watching as Die led Kai and Uruha in an increasingly violent dance to _Hello, Goodbye_.

' _Hello, hello_ ,' Die crooned along with The Beatles, and Aoi jerked his chin upwards in a gesture of welcome.

'How was Sato? Satisfying?'

Ruki just pulled a face and dropped himself down on the floor, picking the spot under the window where Kyo sometimes sat.

'He wanted to talk about sex,' he said in a pained voice, and Aoi gave a harsh laugh.

'Think that's how he get his kicks? I've seen his wife, you know.' He took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke furl from his nostrils, 'She's ugly as sin,' he added coolly. 'He must have to turn out the lights before he gets near her so he doesn't puke his guts out.'

'I think she's all right,' Die said fairly, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

'Of course you do; the only quote-unquote _women_ you see these days are nurses.'

'Nurses are women. Some of them, I mean.'

'Well yes, but could you really get a hard-on over one of them in those fucking white uniforms? I may just be an ignorant homo, but I'd be worried about her reaching around in the heat of passion to take my temperature.'

'Don't be so vulgar,' Uruha said in a dignified voice. ' _Dad_ says you're the most vulgar young man he's ever come across.'

'And I bet he's come across a lot of them,' Aoi muttered. 'So. Ruki. Did you tell Sato all about sucking Kyo's big, hard cock?'

'Shut up,' Ruki said, colouring. _Hello, Goodbye_ was replaced by _Strawberry Fields_ , and Ruki lit up a cigarette so he wouldn't have to look Aoi in the eye, even though his throat felt raw and his head was a little light after the hour he'd spent chain-smoking in Sato's office. He took a drag, reconsidered, and stubbed it out. 'Aoi,' he said, meeting Aoi's gaze, 'Could I talk to you? Alone?'

' _Ooh_ ,' Die said, giving the back of Aoi's neck a playful slap, 'Get your coat, you've _pulled_!'

'More likely Ruki's just after some intelligent conversation for a change,' Aoi yawned, getting to his feet and giving himself a good stretch. 'But sure. I have twenty minutes before I need to go be grilled by a doctor anyway. May as well get a warm up.'

 

They went and sat in Aoi and Die's bedroom, which seemed smaller than it was because of all the posters and pictures stuck up on the walls; even the ceiling hadn't been spared. The lampshade on the ceiling light had been wrapped in a red sweater, and when Aoi turned it on the room was filled with a rosy glow, like the world's most comforting brothel. There was an ashtray heaped with butts on the windowsill, and next to it, a joss stick smouldered in a small holder; the air was filled with the smells of both cigarette smoke and incense, and both beds were unmade. At the foot of one there were three plastic crates stacked full of LPs. They were the only thing in the room that looked well cared for.

Aoi threw himself down on his bed, the one without the crates, and leant back on his elbows comfortably.

'Sit. What's up?'

Uncertainly, Ruki perched on the edge of Die's bed. Now that he was here, he felt foolish; but, he reasoned, it would look even more stupid if he just sat here and said nothing.

'I was wondering,' he said carefully, 'When you first realised...you know, that you liked—'

'Cock? First time I had one in my mouth.'

'Seriously, I mean,' Ruki said quietly, and Aoi smiled at him.

'Sorry. I know what you mean, and I guess I always _sort_ of knew. That's hindsight, though.'

He plucked a pair of sunglasses from his bedside table, examined them, put them on and took them off, and frowned.

'I had a friend who I liked,' he said, his voice a little slower than normal. 'He was my best friend, I guess. His family moved down the road from mine when we were both fifteen. His parents did something important that meant they moved around a lot, so he always felt like a bit of an outsider, and I did too, though I didn't really know why. Anyway, he was the first time I was ever aware of wanting to actually kiss another boy. We'd mess around, and I did everything I could to get him to touch me. Not sexually or anything, but just to touch me; just push me or wrestle with me or something, because it made me feel good.' Aoi shrugged frankly. 'Anyway, it was summer, and one night we decided to go camp out on the beach, just for the hell of it. We figured we'd build a campfire or whatever. It was this stupid plan we had; we lived so close to the beach, but it felt like it'd be so cool to sleep somewhere where our parents _weren't_ , for once.'

He paused, apparently searching for his next words. 'Anyway, we stayed up late, and we were lying in our sleeping bags side by side. It was so dark, and that helped.'

'Helped?'

'Yeah, it was...' he shook his head, 'It was like I just knew I was going to kiss him. I spent the whole day and evening feeling so nervous and not paying attention to anything, because I knew I was going to do it. It was like I was in a daze. So, we were lying side by side, and I just kind of rolled towards him and did it.'

'And?'

'And...he sort of froze up, so I moved back pretty quick. But he came with me; it was a moment of shock, and then he kissed me back.'

 

Aoi grinned, showing teeth, 'I still feel kind of...you know, thinking about it. I mean, I thought he was going to punch me or something. I was so relieved I laughed in his face, but he was laughing, too. Before that I'd been too nervous to think beyond kissing him, but once it happened everything sort of clicked into place, and I knew that I wanted him. Or at least, I knew I wanted to fool around with him. So we both unzipped our sleeping bags, and I sort of moved into his a bit, and I jerked him off.'

'But after that...you know, did you just start thinking of yourself as gay?'

Aoi took a deep pull on his cigarette, pondering that.

'Not exactly,' he said at last. 'I kind of thought it was just him, for a while.'

'So what happened?'

'Well...we weren't exactly together or anything, but anytime we were sleeping over at each other's houses, we'd end up kissing and doing something. Mostly just handjobs, but I went down on him a few times, too. By the time we turned seventeen, though, his dad's contract was up, and they had to move away again, up to Hokkaido. I think I was about to run away and go there myself, I missed him so much, but we'd write to each other, and I realised he was drifting away from the whole thing. I was getting more into it, saying more serious stuff, and he was laughing it off. He was embarrassed, I guess. Once I was out of sight, it was pretty easy to pretend we'd never done anything, and more convenient, too. So, I never ran away. And then I started to get over him, and then I fell for somebody else. That sort of did it; that second person.' He grinned again, more wickedly. 'It was some young up-and-comer at my dad's work. He came over for dinner and I kissed him in the bathroom. I kind of had to realise I was gay after that, because I didn't know him or anything. I just sensed that he was the same as me, and I felt like I wanted to kiss him. Sort of hard to deny it after that.'

'So you think there has to be a second person?' Ruki said hopefully, 'Just one doesn't really – count?'

 

The smile Aoi gave him was surprisingly kind.

'It counts,' he said in a kind tone of voice. 'Men are like mice. You think one's cute and let it into your house, you end up with hundreds of the fucking things.'

'But couldn't it just be that it was just that one person, and their gender didn't matter? I mean, in one case?'

Aoi raised his eyebrows. 'Sure,' he said amiably, 'You could very well be the first person in the world to _ever_ have it happen that way. But generally: no, I don't think so.' He hesitated. 'I'm assuming from your little psycho episode in the phone booth that the guy you were fucking is now fucking somebody else, or at least no longer interested in fucking you. Right? So my advice: get over him. He moved to Hokkaido. Game over.' He blew cigarette smoke into Ruki's face, 'Besides, I've known you were gay from the second you walked in here, and if I hadn't known then, I would've known from how much you're freaking out about it now. And I know it seems like the world's biggest disaster, but as soon as you stop crying about it and start getting sucked off, I promise it won't seem so bad. Okay?' He checked his watch, and got nimbly to his feet. 'I've gotta go. Time to get myself analysed by the finest professionals this country has to offer. But do me a favour, okay?'

'What,' Ruki muttered, cheeks burning.

'When I'm gone – and only when I'm gone, don't get me wrong – stick your hand down your pants, think only of girls, and touch yourself. See how far it gets you, because I will literally bet you a jizz stain on my bed sheets that you're as big a homo as I am.'

 

Ruki didn't do that. He did sit awhile on Die's bed, though, enjoying the comforting messiness of the room and the smell of the incense. Aoi was such a forceful presence that the air in the room seemed to be swirling around his new absence, the vacancy that he'd left, and Ruki watched it move for a while, not thinking about anything in particular. Down the hall, he could hear that the music had stopped, and he had about a half minute to absorb that information before the door to the bedroom burst open and Die appeared, flinging himself straight down on his knees beside his collection of records.

'Hi,' he said, apparently unconcerned to find somebody else sitting on his bed, 'Have your man-to-man?'

'Yeah.'

Die sent him a probing look. 'It help?' he asked, his voice a little softer, and Ruki shrugged. Die snorted.

'You don't have to be so stoic, you know.' He smiled, completely transforming his sad skull of a face, 'You've been here a few months, you should know that nobody's judging you by now. Did you actually suck Kyo's cock? Because it's okay if you did. _Weird_ , but—'

'No,' Ruki said, flushing hotly, 'I didn't.'

Die grinned. 'Do you want to?'

'No. Gross.'

Die gave a loose shrug. 'I'd have thought so too, once,' he said, 'But once you're here it's like being in a bubble. You're surrounded by other men all the time. No girls. Not _real_ ones, anyway. You wouldn't think you could get so attached to a bunch of lunatics, but nobody's ever as crazy as you think.'

'It's weird,' Ruki said. 'When I first got here, I thought you'd all be...'

'Crazy?' Die supplied delicately. 'Yeah, I know. I felt the same. I was the newest before you came along. And...' he paused to think, digging his way through his collection of records absent-mindedly, 'I guess you have people like Kai and Shinya, who _need_ to be here. The rest of us, I don't know.' He tugged a record out, scrutinised it, and put it back. 'We just want to live,' he said, frowning. 'If anyone would let us.'

He leant forwards, and when his shirt rode up Ruki could see every individual vertebrae in his spine, as sharply defined as if he had been wearing his bones on the outside.

 


	17. Chapter 17

It was a stultifying day in late August, and the air in Sato's office tasted stale over Ruki's tongue. Drops of sweat were inching their way down his spine like insects, and his hair stuck to his neck in wet spikes; he kept pushing it back irritably.

Because there were more people, the office felt smaller and more stifling than it normally did, and Ruki's view of the window was partially blocked. His mother and father were sitting side-by-side in matching armchairs, both looking equally ill-at-ease, whilst Ruki sat on an ordinary wooden chair dragged in from the dining room.

He knew that from the outside they would look like a bizarre group of people: Sato with his starched white shirt and neatly clipped moustache; Ruki's father with his thinning hair and glasses; Ruki's mother with her waist thickening and her lipstick worn away to a reddish outline. Then, of course, there was Ruki himself; skinny and pale and sweating in his chair, clutching the seat with both hands to keep himself from reaching for a cigarette.

Sato had thought it might be beneficial for Ruki's parents to participate in a session. He had been so far off the mark that Ruki hadn't been able to identify any way to tell him.

His mother's hand kept curling and twitching on the arm of her chair, as if she wanted to reach out and touch him; she shot him frequent looks, her eyes magnified by tears.

'Thank you for coming,' Sato was saying, his hands clasped loosely on the desk in front of him, 'I know it's not easy for you to get here.'

'It's good to be here,' Ruki's father responded politely, whilst his mother made a kind of soft whimpering noise.

'I've asked you to join us because I wanted to speak about the three of you as a family unit. In talking to Ruki these past few months, I've identified – and correct me if you feel I'm wrong, Ruki – a strong sense of alienation. Please understand, I'm not here to apportion any blame, and I'm sure the three of you are a very close, loving family.'

It wasn't any good: Ruki gave up and lit a cigarette.

 

The one benefit of the session was that he didn't have to talk very much; Sato encouraged him to weigh in but directed his questions more towards Ruki's parents, who answered everything in a careful, thoughtful tone of voice that made him want to chew on glass. In the still, sticky heat, each word from their mouths seemed to fall into his head like a rock, clicking together and piling up until his skull felt heavy and stuffed full.

They talked about Ruki's childhood and his school days and the friends he'd had. A few raindrops spattered against the window, but no shower began; the sky darkened but remained flat as ever, and Ruki's mother began to fan herself weakly.

'Of course,' she was saying, 'He was always very _shy_ at school. Never had a _lot_ of friends – never a wide group – but he had one or two friends, didn't you, Ruki?'

He tipped his head back and blew a long plume of blue smoke towards the ceiling.

'Your mother asked you a question,' his father said in a tight voice, and Ruki sighed.

'There were a few problems with bullying at his school,' his mother continued doggedly, 'but that's just...Ruki's always been a very sensitive boy. Artistic. Maybe we should have sent him to a specialist school, where he'd have been with more like-minded people, but financially...'

'I understand,' Sato said gently. 'Did you ever meet any of Ruki's friends?'

'Meet? Oh, well – no.'

'Never had them round to the house?'

'No...no, we weren't really much for entertaining. Of course, if he'd have _wanted_ them to visit—'

'I didn't have any friends,' Ruki interrupted tonelessly, and his mother gaped at him.

'Ruki! That's – not true.'

'Yes it is.'

'But you used to go out with them!'

'I was alone,' Ruki said in the same voice.

'But – but why would you say—?'

'I didn't want you to worry.'

'Did you think about that when you tried to kill yourself? Us worrying?' his father said, still in that strange, restricted voice, and Ruki glanced over at him, uncertain how to feel.

'Yes,' he said honestly, his voice softer. 'I thought about it a lot. It almost stopped me.'

' _Almost_.'

'Do you feel you've lied to your parents a lot?' Sato asked, leaning forward in his seat, and Ruki could feel his skin prickling as three sets of eyes anchored themselves to him.

'Not a lot,' he said quietly. 'Only when I thought they'd worry about the truth.'

'Oh, Ruki,' his mother scolded softly, 'Parents are _supposed_ to worry about their children.'

'Did you feel that your parents worried too much?'

'Not exactly.' Ruki shifted uncomfortably in his seat, lighting a second cigarette from the smouldering tip of his first. 'I just...'

'We never had a lot of time for you, did we?' his mother said, catching a tear with her handkerchief as it trickled down her cheek.

'Huh? No – you – you had time for me.'

'We didn't,' she said, her voice thick like she had a cold, 'Because it was all about Hiroshi.'

It was as if she had dropped a big stone into a still pond; the ripples from her words went around the room and stunned Ruki and his father into stillness.

 

Ruki stared fixedly out of the window, trying to focus on what he could see of the hills past his father's head; he wondered if Aoi and Uruha were out today. He wondered if Kai was playing football on the lawn, his radio lying a safe distance away on the grass and playing some crackly rock music it was picking up from the pirate station he kept it constantly tuned into. If Uruha and Aoi were out then Die would surely be in the music room, idling away the time with a guitar on his lap, playing along vigorously to some record or another, committing the notes to the muscle memory of his fingers until they were perfect; or maybe Shinya would be in there at the piano. Kyo – could be sitting under the window, his head tipped back to allow the drops of sweat to roll down his throat, or he could be holed up in his sarcophagus of a room, or he could be lying flat on his back in the TV room, ignoring the television as it blathered away about something he didn't care about. Maybe he was reading, or else just thinking; maybe all the time he had his eyes closed he was actually asleep.

There was a pressurised sort of feeling in Ruki's ears, as if he'd sunk very deep very quickly underground. He swallowed tentatively and they popped. Sato cleared his throat.

'Hiroshi?' he asked delicately, and Ruki saw his father place a hand around his mother's fingers.

'Hiroshi was our other son,' she answered in a trembling voice. 'But he died.'

Her face took on an oddly flat, shrunken look, and she pressed her lips together. Ruki's father squeezed her hand tighter.

'He was ill,' he said. 'From very early childhood he was ill. It was a progressive disease. He hung on much longer than the doctors said he could. They expected he would be dead before he was twelve, but he lived until he was twenty-two.'

Ruki examined that: the melancholy note of pride in his father's voice. _This_ son, at least, had tried to hold onto life. Wasn't a quitter.

'What was your relationship with your brother, Ruki?' Sato was asking.

'They were very close,' his mother said in a small voice. 'Ruki used to lie on the floor in Hiroshi's room for hours, drawing. Even after he passed, that's where he'd draw.' Her voice wavered and she hesitated, gathering herself together. 'Hiroshi couldn't draw...it was his muscles. He wouldn't have been able to hold a pencil. I always wondered if he felt – felt jealous, ever.' She sniffed, pressing her handkerchief to her lips briefly, 'So I gave Hiroshi more of my love. I had to.'

'Mum,' Ruki said uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on his cigarette tip, but she shook her head tearfully.

'I had to,' she repeated. 'But I didn't want to. It was – with Hiroshi the way he was, he needed constant care. He couldn't do anything for himself. I just didn't have time to spend with two children, and Ruki was always so independent, from very early on. It was like he knew that he couldn't ever come first.'

'We hadn't planned on any other children,' Ruki's father added tentatively, casting a worried look at his surviving son. 'Obviously neither of us regrets having either of our children. We love them both. But Ruki wasn't planned; he was...when Hiroshi was nine years old, he was born. Those were busy, stressful years.' He paused, looking down at his hands. 'I don't think I even felt like I knew where I was, half the time.'

He paused again. 'But I don't see what any of that has to do with _this_.'

Sato rubbed at his upper lip, perhaps feeling to see if his moustache was as neat as he hoped.

'Everything is important,' he said vaguely. 'But I think the fact that you, Ruki, haven't mentioned your brother to me before today...'

'We don't talk about him,' his mother broke in, her hand stretched out slightly as if she could protect Ruki from the insinuation.

He lowered his eyes to the defenceless white skin of his wrists and the stupid blue pulse that jumped there.

 

After his parents had gone home, Ruki found himself with nowhere to go.

He didn't want to go into his bedroom. The door was left slightly ajar, which meant Kai wasn't in there, and somehow Ruki couldn't stand the thought of being shut up between the four walls by himself. From the music room he could hear both the sound of the piano and, softer underneath it, somebody playing a guitar; he looked in briefly to see Shinya and Die together, harmonising gently on some piece of music Ruki didn't know. Ordinarily the view would have surprised him, but he didn't seem to have it in him. His mind felt sort of flat and too quiet, just as full of stone as it had been earlier; there was no way for his real thoughts to squeak through.

Where did he want to be?

Alone. Not alone.

Lying on the floor of Eiji's studio, his typewriter in front of him, working on an essay.

Lying on the floor of his brother's bedroom, the tatami littered with pencils, drawing a picture.

Alone, not alone.

He wanted to be outside, even though the heavy sky looked like rain. Alone – not alone. He didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want to talk, either. He wanted silence, and the presence of another person; just somebody to look at him, to stop him from disappearing.

'Where's Kyo,' he said aloud to nobody in particular.

'Behind you,' was the slightly hoarse response. He turned, and there was the other man, standing as if Ruki had simply willed him into being; in his hand he held a paperback that Ruki recognised. 'I wanted to give this back to you.'

'Were you standing there _watching_ me?'

'No. You've been standing still for ten minutes. I didn't know how to pass you without it being uncomfortable.'

'Because _this_ is so comfortable?' Ruki snapped, and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead desperately. 'Leave the book. I want to go outside.'

Kyo's eyes darted towards the window.

'Sign us out before it starts raining,' he said in a low voice. 'I'll meet you by the door.'

 

Ruki did as he was told, hurrying to put their names down on the blackboard and get his shoes on. The nurse seemed to be dragging her feet as she rounded the desk of the nurse's station to unlock the door for him; it seemed impossible that anybody could go so slowly.

'Be back in an hour, please,' she told him.

'But I'm allowed two,' he argued, and she gestured towards the clock, which read twenty past four.

'You can't miss dinner,' she said, using an ultra-reasonable tone of voice that couldn't be argued with, 'I want both of you back by the time everybody is sitting down to eat. Yes?'

'Yes,' Ruki mumbled, slipping through the gap in the door as soon as she opened it and tripping his way down the staircase. He remembered how echoey that stairwell had felt when he'd first arrived; how he'd been so scared to get to the ward that he'd wished the steps could have lasted forever. His legs had felt like iron then but they flew now, so light he felt he was falling with every step, and soon he was through reception and out in the strange afternoon light, almost purplish through the grey clouds. The hills were vague shadows through the haze, and he squinted even though it wasn't bright.

There was nobody else. It felt like a landscape from a dream. He could hear a bird calling out into the stillness, but the haze reflected the sound strangely; he couldn't begin to guess where it had come from.

He became aware that Kyo was beside him, and without saying anything the two of them began to walk. The other man carried a clear plastic umbrella by its wooden handle, and his t-shirt was sticking to him slightly in the heat. Everything looked unreal, tinted mauve, the air slowly revolving in front of them. Ruki led them on a hard path, hardly realising where his feet were taking him; it was a steep climb, and close to the top, he felt a fat drop of rain hit his cheek, and then another on the top of his head. The sky gave a low rumble, and with a jolt Ruki understood where he'd taken them to: this was Aoi and Uruha's spot. There was a rushing sound in the distance and a rushing inside his own head; rain in the trees, blood in his ears. He sat down heavily on the grass.

 

'You'll get wet,' Kyo said, his first words since they had left the ward, and sighed when Ruki shook his head listlessly. Kyo was right, of course; the haze was rain now. He could smell it all around him, and his hair was becoming flattened by it, and drops of it were rolling down his forehead and cheeks to mingle with the sweat. He could feel it pattering against his skin, until he couldn't. Looking up, he saw Kyo with a strange, grave expression on his face, holding his umbrella out at arm's length so that it covered Ruki over. Through it, the clouds above were distorted and streaked. The rain was heavy, Ruki realised; in the few short moments that Kyo had been uncovered, he had already become halfway drenched. His hair was sticking to his face, and he pushed it back from his forehead with the heel of his hand.

'I owe you an apology,' Kyo said, as if it was an explanation.

'You're going to get soaked,' Ruki replied, and Kyo gave him a look that said quite clearly _yes, obviously._

'I'm sorry,' Kyo continued, and Ruki blinked up at him.

'What for?' he asked.

'Whatever I did that made you start avoiding me.'

'I wasn't—'

'Yes, you were,' Kyo said, his voice very neutral, and Ruki sighed.

'It wasn't anything you did,' he said slowly. 'I just...'

He realised he didn't have an explanation, and gave up. Rain was running down Kyo's face in rivers, following the contours of his cheeks, and his white institutional t-shirt was soaked clear; Ruki turned his face away from it.

'So you were doing your thing again.'

'What thing?'

'Running away,' Kyo said simply, his voice not unkind.

'I don't run away,' Ruki denied hotly.

'No, that's right. This is exactly where you planned to end up.'

Ruki sighed, drawing his knees up close to his chest, and gracefully Kyo squatted down next to him. For a moment both sets of eyes searched the hills around them, barely visible through the downpour.

'I'm not criticising you,' Kyo said quietly. 'I just thought if I pointed it out, you might stick around for once.'

'Pretty stupid thought,' Ruki said sourly, and glanced upwards again at the protective canopy of Kyo's umbrella. The rain made a pecking sound on its surface, and water ran from it in continuous streams. 'Sato had me sit down with my parents,' he said finally.

'Did you tell them about Okada?'

Ruki shook his head. 'I don't want to. My parents are all set to go to his exhibition. They were talking about my brother.'

'You have a brother.'

' _Had_ a brother.'

'I'm sorry,' Kyo said, and Ruki shot him a sideways look.

'You have any siblings?'

'Had.' He met Ruki's eye. 'My sister. She was ten.'

'Hiroshi was twenty-two,' Ruki murmured, 'The age I am now.' He looked down at his knees. 'Next year I'll turn twenty-three, and it doesn't feel fair. I don't want to get ahead of him.'

 

His voice broke on the last word and he ducked his head abruptly, hiding his face. The drip and crackle from the umbrella was soothing, and he closed his eyes, listening to it. 'How did you get over it?' he asked.

'I didn't. I snapped.'

'That was when you had your episode?'

'Yes.'

Ruki opened his eyes. 'I can understand that. When Hiroshi died, nothing felt real.' He shook his head. 'My mum was saying all this stuff about how she thought she didn't give me enough attention compared to him, because he was so sick. Like I was jealous, or something. But I loved him the most. To me he wasn't ill; he was just my big brother. I loved him so much.' He paused. 'But when he died, I was...I felt angry at him, almost. Because he left me.'

Kyo didn't say anything, and Ruki sighed. 'I know he didn't have much of a choice,' he mumbled.

Kyo remained quiet, and Ruki made an irritated noise. 'Say something, will you?' he said edgily. 'You don't have to wait until you have something cool to say. I already know you're a total loser.'

He heard a snort from next to him, and to his surprise, he felt his own lips twitching up at the corners.

'What gave me away?'

'Dunno. Call it a hunch.' Ruki sighed softly, leaning back on his hands. 'Sit down properly,' he said, and to his surprise, Kyo did it. Carefully, he took hold of the other man's elbow and pulled him closer. Kyo gave him a look, and Ruki gestured towards the umbrella.

'If you sit close to me, we can both stay dry.'

'I'm already soaked. It doesn't matter.'

Ruki closed his eyes briefly.

'I want to sit close to you.'

'Why?'

'I don't know.'

Kyo seemed to consider this a moment, and then shifted so that his shoulder was just bumping Ruki's. The contact seemed to make him uncomfortable; Ruki felt the muscles in his arm tense. He was still holding the umbrella awkwardly aloft; languidly, Ruki batted it out of his hand, and they both watched it tumble a few metres away down the hill.

'Put your arm around me,' he said.

'Ruki—'

'What?' Ruki interrupted with a snap, and Kyo fell silent. Stiffly, he put his arm behind Ruki's back, his hand resting cautiously down by the younger man's hip, not touching.

'You're going to get sick,' Kyo said. His voice was just a little hoarser than normal, and Ruki could hear a strange tone to the breath beneath it; high, fast. He was nervous.

It made Ruki feel bold, and he rested his head gently on the other man's shoulder, feeling the muscles contract tensely as his skin and hair brushed against them. He could feel two layers of him, one through the other; cold wet t-shirt, warm wet skin. He could smell him; that familiar Kyo smell, soap and skin, mixed with rain. Wet cotton.

'We should go back,' Kyo said in that same strange voice, 'We'll be late.'

But he didn't move; neither of them did.

 


	18. Chapter 18

By the time the two of them started their difficult descent back to the sanatorium, the ground had become a quagmire of soft mud with thin, meandering rivers flowing through it; the grass was flooded out and rain was cascading musically off the leaves and branches of the trees. Kyo kept his umbrella shut – there was hardly any point to opening it with them both so completely soaked already – and used it as a kind of staff to help him keep footing on the slippery ground; even so, they both lost their footing and fell dozens of times on their way down. The absurdity of the situation – soaked to the skin and mud everywhere, even in his hair, so far away from home and tramping through the mountains as one of a duo of mental patients – gave Ruki the giggles, and every new slip seemed to make the situation funnier, even when they hurt. His thin, strong fingers made a tight fist around Kyo's wrist, clutching on tightly to help stabilise himself, and the other man was too distracted by the difficulty of staying upright to stiffen or flinch.

For some reason, that made Ruki feel a sort of warmth in his chest, as if some earlier patch of sunshine had become lodged there.

It took the white walls and highly polished floor of the sanatorium to make Ruki see them both clearly: not only were they late, they were filthy. Their clothes sagged from them wetly and made them shiver; their hair was plastered to their faces and necks and they were spattered head to toe with dark mud. They dripped over the floors whilst one of the junior nurses fussed around them, herding them into neighbouring shower cubicles and giving them terse warnings to scrub off and change into fresh clothes.

At first, pulling their damp bodies into clean t-shirts, it seemed they might have avoided trouble. When they emerged from the bathroom, though, clean and – in Ruki's case – chastened, he realised that there was nobody else around at all; nobody milling around the corridors or talking on the phones; nobody's bedroom door flung wide open with chatter spilling out of it like sloppily cast-off clothes; no record playing in the music room. Instead, only the hum of the television could be heard, faint through the closed door of the TV room, and that was a first; Ruki had never seen that door closed before.

 

They were led into the dining room, where two lonely-looking place settings remained; not opposite each other, as might have been expected, but each marooned down at the seats Ruki and Kyo usually sat in to eat. Dinner was curry with rice, gone stone-cold now and congealed, and Ruki picked at it without enthusiasm. He remembered the curry he used to eat in the cheap little dark restaurant around the corner from his university dorm. He felt homesick for that sauce; the sanatorium version was bland by comparison, with chunks of meat and vegetables surfacing like strange shipwrecks.

He remembered eating there with E. O. once or twice, sitting in a scratched-up booth long after the meal was over and smoking and drinking cup after cup of strong black coffee. That had been at the beginning, when Eiji was still lecturing and before their relationship had been moved behind closed doors. Back then it had felt like they'd talked about all kinds of things, but it always came back to the same topic: art, art, art. He had felt bright little firecrackers of new ideas going off in his head every day, and he had thought very sincerely that they could make him happy. It was stupid, because he hadn't realised that he was already happy.

 

When he'd finally put away a few small mouthfuls of the curry, their plates were taken away, and though normally they would have been given medications next, that didn't happen. Somehow both of them seemed to know that it was forbidden for them to leave the table; the junior nurse who had supervised their meal left and the head nurse replaced her, flanked by two male orderlies. Kyo started to light up a cigarette, but one of them plucked it out of his hands and snapped it in two, scattering the tobacco uselessly across the tabletop.

Kyo's face darkened slightly, but he didn't say anything. Ruki wet his lips nervously.

With a quiet movement, the nurse drew out the chair at the head of the table and sat down, clasping her hands loosely on the tabletop and surveying them both over the tops of her small, rimless spectacles. She was quite a young woman – perhaps not yet forty – but her authority felt steely and absolute. Ruki hadn't found himself feeling scared of her – she had not felt like an unreasonable woman – but now he did. Her lips were set in a line so straight and thin it might have been drawn by a ruler.

'You must know how much trouble you're in,' she said in a level voice. 'After all the walks you two have taken together, I little expected something like this.'

She rubbed her forehead softly and sighed. 'I don't see that I have any choice but to restrict both of you to the ward,' she said. 'This is very, very serious. Ruki, with your history...I hope you understand why your lateness would cause such a panic.' She paused. 'You'll lose your grounds privileges for three months.'

'Three _months_!' Ruki blurted, almost starting out of his seat, but she shut him up with a look.

'Yes, three months! This is _serious_ , Ruki. Anything could have happened.'

Three whole months on the ward, in the stupefying heat of the ward. Three whole months and summer would be gone, and the leaves would be turning brown, and the weather would get cold, and it would rain more. The days would get shorter, and the nights would crush him under their weight.

He rocked back in his seat sulkily, arms folded over his chest.

Three months without his walks with Kyo.

The thought scared him because, he realised, the walks were something he had depended on. When everything was terrible they did, in some small way, make things better.

'Kyo...' the nurse steepled her fingers under her chin, regarding him almost nervously, 'I hardly know what to do with you. You've been here for twelve years; you know the rules. With your history – your background – having you pull a stunt like this with such a new, impressionable patient is...'

Ruki's head snapped up before she could finish her sentence: ' _Kyo_ didn't pull any stunt.'

'Excuse me?'

' _He_ didn't do anything. It was all my idea. I dragged him out; I was the one who didn't want to go back.' He paused. 'And I'm _not_ impressionable,' he added haughtily.

'Ruki...' she sighed, 'Please try to calm yourself down. We've covered you and your punishment, and you're in enough trouble as it is. You might not understand why what Kyo did was worse, but you are not the professional here; I am.'

'But he didn't _do_ —'

'Leave it,' Kyo said in a tired sort of voice. He was gazing flatly at the nurse. 'What's it going to be,' he said, without bothering to add a question mark.

'You'll also be restricted to the ward for three months. And...' she hesitated just slightly, 'I'm sorry, Kyo, but I want you to have some time in the isolation room to think about this.'

 

A sort of crackle seemed to go around the room, like an electrical current. Ruki noticed that Kyo's shoulders had gone stiff, and that his hands were gripping the edge of the table tightly.

'Please don't put me in there,' he said calmly.

'Kyo. I've talked it over with your doctor—'

'You know how it'll be if you put me in there.'

'Don't think of it as a punishment. As I say, I've discussed it with your doctor, and he agrees that as a therapeutic measure—'

'No,' Kyo said, still in the same calm voice, 'Not in the dark. Not like that.'

The memory of a voice echoed vaguely around Ruki's head: _it was always some dark, enclosed place, something like a basement or a stomach or the bottom of a well. And there was something waiting..._

'This is bullshit,' Ruki said, his voice tight and sharp, 'Kyo didn't do anything wrong. Should he have come back alone and left me there by myself? Would everyone have been _panicking_ about me then?'

'Ruki—'

'You can't _do_ this! You _know_ it's not fair, you – you're just punishing him for something else! You're punishing him for why he's here.'

As soon as the words were at his lips, he realised they were true, and he glared at the nurse defiantly, 'Aren't you?'

She gave him a mild look. 'Do you know why Kyo is here?' she asked delicately.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kyo's hand perform an involuntary spasm against on the tabletop. Ruki grabbed a lock of his own hair and yanked on it anxiously, frustrated, 'No – not exactly. But I know that it's nothing to do with _this_.'

'I'm afraid that if you don't know, Ruki, you can't possibly be in a position to say so.'

'But—' he started, and the nurse slammed her hand down suddenly on the table, shocking him into silence.

'One more _word_ out of you and I will have you sedated. Is that quite clear?'

'Don't worry,' Kyo said in a quiet voice. Ruki opened his mouth to argue but he felt something that surprised him; very lightly, Kyo had touched him on the wrist.

He didn't think the other man had ever touched him before; not without being asked.

Impossible to say why such a small thing felt so huge to him. He stared at the hand on his wrist uncomprehendingly. Kyo sighed.

'How long for?' he asked the nurse, who seemed to be struggling to regain the flash of temper that she had lost; her face was perfect, calm again if not warm, but her breaths were fast and shallow.

'Until the lesson sinks in,' she said.

She sat back and gave a slight nod, and the orderlies gently started to pull Kyo out of his chair.

 

It wasn't like when Ruki was put in there; with Kyo, they didn't have to drag him, and he didn't fight against them. It would have felt better if he had: although he walked for himself, he moved as if he was climbing the gallows; there was a desperate hang to his head that sent something like a knife through Ruki's throat; it was as if they had shot him full of something to make him weak.

Tailing behind Kyo and the orderlies, unsure of what to say, Ruki felt he was retracing his own steps; he remembered the kicking, how his throat had hurt from the screaming. He remembered the look in Kyo's eyes that had calmed him: the look that had seemed to say _it just_ is _this way sometimes_.

But when Kyo's eyes flickered up to regard him, Ruki couldn't seem to make his own face say that. Kyo smiled, or tried to smile.

'It'll be all right,' he said.

'It's all my fault,' Ruki said immediately, and Kyo held his arms out for the straitjacket.

'I could've dragged you back if I'd wanted to.'

'But it's not _fair_ ,' Ruki said desperately, and even as Kyo's arms were wrapped tightly around his middle and the sleeves of the jacket were laced up behind his back, he found it in him to smile properly at that.

'Listen,' he said, 'Promise me something.'

'What?'

One of the orderlies released his hold on Kyo to unlock the door of the isolation room, and Kyo's voice quickened slightly when he spoke next: 'Promise me you won't wait around outside the door.'

'But—'

But Ruki had been planning to do just that; he hesitated, and Kyo widened his eyes urgently; the door had swung wide, and the orderly was reaching for his arm again.

'Promise,' he said breathlessly, 'Promise me.'

'But Kyo—'

'Ruki, _promise_ me!'

There was no time to think; Kyo teetered on the edge of the darkness, a moment away from being swallowed up by it completely, and Ruki had to do it: he nodded quickly.

He thought he saw something like relief flood Kyo's face.

Then the door slammed shut.

 

In the dim TV room, Ruki didn't know what to do. His hands were shaking, and there was a tightness in his throat like he was about to cry, but his eyes felt hot and dry and angry.

Everybody had their heads turned raptly towards the television set, but they didn't fool him for a second; he could tell simply by the tension in their shoulders and necks that they had been waiting for him to come in and give his report.

The thought exhausted him, and he lingered in the doorway, a silver-lit silhouette in the light of the TV. His eyes searched the room over and over.

With the whitish glow of the TV on their foreheads they all looked like nothing more than a bunch of stupid moon-brains, like dummy astronauts. Of all the various bodies sitting on chairs and on the floor, only one looked different, and it took Ruki a while to figure out why in the gloom; one of them wasn't facing the television. In fact, as Ruki's vision adjusted to the contrast between the bright television and dark room, he found Shinya's eyes regarding him distantly, like two huge moons in his face. Feeling it would be awkward otherwise, Ruki slowly sat himself down on the floor next to him, almost upsetting the chess set that he hadn't noticed was laid out on the floor.

 

'Play chess?' Shinya offered quietly, and Ruki gave a jagged shrug. He hadn't exactly played much before, and though he thought he knew how all the different pieces moved and what the object of the game was, it was almost laughable how little he cared; how could he be expected to give a shit about a game of chess when Kyo had been locked up, alone in the dark?

Shinya began to arrange the chessmen for a game, his movements fluid and well practised. Ruki wondered how many games of chess he'd played in his lifetime.

'I usually play by myself,' Shinya said, as if he'd been reading Ruki's thoughts. His voice was funny; deeper than Ruki had expected but also slightly hoarse, as though from lack of use.

'How do you play by yourself?'

Shinya moved a white piece, spun the board around, moved a black piece, spun the board around, and moved another white piece.

'Like that.'

'What's the point?'

'Composing.' Shinya put the pieces he'd moved back into their correct places and spun the board back around a final time. 'There. You start. White always goes first.'

'“Composing”?'

'You know. Making problems.'

'Like we haven't got enough problems around here,' Ruki muttered, and Shinya gave him a gawky sort of grin which he hid almost immediately behind his hand.

'Like this,' Shinya said. With a flurry he suddenly had all the chessmen in flux; it was like watching two people play a game in ultra sped up motion. He arranged them deftly on the board, taking away some and advancing others, frowned as he appraised his handiwork, and then sat back, apparently satisfied.

'White to go first and checkmate black in two moves.'

Ruki gave him a look so blank that he smiled again; like he was being controlled by a puppeteer, the hand came up automatically to hide it.

'Composing chess problems,' he explained. 'I make a problem with only one possible solution, and then somebody else has to figure it out. Sometimes I send them in to the newspaper.'

'Right.' Ruki paused. 'You must have to be...pretty smart.'

'I've had a lot of time to practice,' Shinya said lightly. He had moved the pieces back into their proper positions now; he dipped his head in a little nod, and Ruki absently moved a pawn forward. 'How long?' he asked.

'Nine years or so. My problems started when I was seventeen.' He skipped a knight deftly forward in an L shape.

'Problems?' Ruki asked vaguely, and it happened again: the smile, the hand.

'I have schizophrenia,' Shinya explained neutrally. 'I couldn't live at home any more.'

'Can it be cured?' Ruki asked, moving his bishop out.

'No.' Shinya manoeuvred his other knight out easily. 'But you can treat it, sometimes.'

'How?'

'There are drugs. But mostly it's like having a bomb in your head. You just stay still and sit around quietly hoping it won't go off.'

'You're friends with Kyo,' Ruki said lowly, leaning forward under the pretence of guiding out another pawn.

'Yes.'

'They put him in the isolation room.'

Something like a dark shadow crossed behind Shinya's eyes, and he gave a restrained sigh.

'Kyo doesn't like it in there.'

'Does anybody?'

'I do.' Shinya skated forward a pawn of his own.

'You _like_ it?'

'Yes.' He looked at Ruki with his luminous eyes. 'Your move.'

 

It didn't take long for Shinya to win the game; even if Ruki had been good at chess, his could hardly have said that his head was in it. He turned down a rematch, and Shinya went back to his composing, spinning the board around rapidly and muttering. It was a relief to have his actions explained; it made him look much less mad.

Ruki felt strange, sort of splintery inside. Restless on the floor, he made to get up and leave the room but a strong hand shot out, grabbed him a handful of t-shirt and swung him onto the sofa, where he found himself between Aoi and Die.

'Everything okay?' one or the other of them muttered; his mind was too fuzzy to tell. He shook his head.

He had a great tense headache and he had the peculiar feeling that it was from the strain of keeping Kyo in his thoughts; of trying to hold him there carefully, so he couldn't get hurt.

_It was always some dark, enclosed place, something like a basement or a stomach or the bottom of a well. And there was something waiting..._

His mouth firmed itself into a straight line.

'You mind getting into some trouble?' he murmured, and out of the corners of his eyes, he saw both Die and Aoi's matching grins light up silver in the light from the television.

'What's the plan?' Aoi breathed. Ruki licked his lips nervously, screwing his hands up into determined fists.

'I need one of us to grab a good record. One of us to distract the nurses. And one of us to steal the music room keys from behind their desk.'

'Insane,' said Die in an admiring voice, 'What then?'

'We're going to lock the door behind us so they can't get in and play it as loud as we can.'

'Outstanding,' said Aoi, sounding satisfied.

'It's got to be – I want Kyo to be able to hear it.'

'Where is he?'

'Isolation room.'

Either Die or Aoi hissed through his teeth.

'I know the right record,' Die said in a low voice. 'I'll get it.'

'I'll be the distraction,' said Aoi. 'It's the role I was born to play. Ruki, you're small, you can grab the keys. There's a little set of three on a hook behind the desk, with a white tag. Those are the ones you need. I mean, it _says_ music on the tag.'

Smoothly, the three of them stood up from the sofa and marched towards the door. Kai and Uruha's wide eyes turned to watch them go, and Ruki caught it just in the periphery of his vision as Uruha shot a small, sweet smile at the other man.

Ruki's heart felt like it was beating high and loud in his chest. The three of them paused at the door of the TV room, and nervously, the three of them grinned at each other.

'All for one,' Aoi said grimly, 'and one for all. We are going to be in _so_ much trouble.'

'Well,' Die said fairly, 'at least the isolation room's taken.'

'You don't have to help me,' Ruki said nervously, 'Just – if I can borrow the record, I can try and do it alone.'

Aoi snorted extravagantly.

'Like we'd let you get away with _that_.'

'Yeah, share the fun. I could do with a dance.'

'But—'

'Besides,' Die said, grinning wickedly, 'This is for Kyo, and I'd do anything for _love_.'

'I don't _love_ —'

'Yeah, maybe we can help turn 'harder, faster' into 'forever after',' Aoi quipped, and slapped him hard on the back. 'All right. Game time.'

As Die slipped off down the corridor, and as Aoi strode towards his centre stage, Ruki was left with half a second to smile at them: his stupid, kind, infuriating friends.

He turned to face the nurse's station desk.

 


	19. Chapter 19

'Nurse,' Aoi was saying in a timid sort of voice to the nurse behind the desk, 'I – I've got this _thing_.'

She had been busy doling out sleeping pills into individual two-tablet servings on her tray; she shot him an irritated look.

'A thing, Aoi?'

He lowered his voice. 'It's like – a _growth_. I need you to take a look.'

It slowly occurred to Ruki that it wasn't just his heart pounding in his ears: there actually was a muffled thudding noise permeating the ward. His eyes jumped uneasily to the door of the isolation room.

 _Hold on_ , he wanted to say, but he knew it would have been stupid.

'Aoi, I'm quite busy right now. Can you show me here?'

'It's not in a place I generally display to the public,' Aoi muttered darkly, and she sighed, screwing the cap neatly back on the pill bottle.

'Fine. We'll have a look in your room.'

'But Die's in there,' Aoi protested. 'Can't I show you in the bathroom?'

Ruki had to smile at that: Die and Aoi's room was just behind the phone booths, within clear eyeshot of the nurses' station; the bathroom, however, was all the way up the hall. Without a blink at Ruki, Aoi led the nurse away up there, complaining in a loud voice of how swollen and throbbing his growth was, and Ruki quickly boosted himself up over the desk.

There were more sets of keys than he had anticipated; there were at least twenty, and five had white tags. The one that said _music_ had four separate keys on it. Clutching them tightly in his hand to stop them jingling, he hopped back over the desk and started trying all four of them in the music room door, wanting to be ready when it was time to lock it.

Slightly flushed, Die joined him, a whole bundle of colourful record sleeves in his hands. He stacked them carefully on the floor, clapped Ruki on the back, withdrew a black vinyl record and slipped it onto the player. He grinned.

'Ready?'

The right key was the biggest one, a tarnished silver. Ruki practised turning it in the lock and nodded stiffly.

'Ready.'

 

There was an agonising wait, perhaps a little under a minute, and then the bathroom door burst open and Aoi's loud voice was suddenly everywhere, echoing off the polished halls and floors as he sprinted towards the music room:

' _My_ mistake, nurse – it wasn't a growth – just my _DICK_ getting _HARD_ when I _THINK ABOUT MEN_!'

He lurched into the music room and Ruki slammed the door closed behind him, fumbling only briefly with the lock; the key turned with a satisfying click and Die dropped the needle onto the record gently.

'Do the honours,' he said, bowing at Aoi politely. Smiling, almost blushing, Aoi nodded, and his careful fingers turned the volume up as high as it would go.

The drums came in first, and they made the windows shake; the guitar blared over the top, razor-sharp, and Die leapt excitedly onto the top of the piano, skinny legs spread wide and his red hair whipping around his face.

He didn't look anorexic at all in that moment, Ruki thought. He looked glorious.

_'You jump in front of my car when you, you know all the time_

_Ninety miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive_

_You tell me it's all right, you don't mind a little pain_

_You say you just want me to take you for a drive.'_

There was a frantic banging on the door; through the reinforced glass pane set into it, Ruki could see the look of panic on the nurse's face, and he couldn't help himself: his face split into a wide grin and he laughed at her as Die yanked Aoi up on top of the piano with him, the two of them dancing so violently it seemed a miracle their flying limbs didn't hit each other:

' _You're just like CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC!_ '

'Boys—'

' _SO HARD TO GET THROUGH TO YOU!_ '

'Open this door right now—!'

' _CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC!_ '

' _Ruki_! Aoi!'

' _I DON'T NEED TO RUN OVER YOU!_ '

Kai's delighted face bobbed behind the nurse's in the window like a bright balloon; his smile was so wide it threatened to split his face in two. Uruha was tailing him, an amused/anxious expression on his thoughtful face; he suddenly frowned though, and took off his glasses, and as Ruki watched he set his hands on the nurse's shoulders and began to steer her around in a clumsy but forceful waltz, just like Aoi had taught him all those months ago.

The song was drawing to a close but Die was ready for it; hopping lithely down from the piano, he flipped Jimi Hendrix off the player and dropped on the _Please Please Me_ LP instead. He mistimed his placement of the needle slightly, and they were treated to the fading-out ending of _There's a Place_ before a moment of crackly silence.

He pointed at Kai through the glass and, like a starved rock star, intoned: 'this is for you, baby.'

 

'Hope you know how to do the twist!' Aoi hollered at the nurse as The Beatles clattered back into life with _Twist and Shout_ , leaping down from the piano and grabbing Die and Ruki's hands to dance with them.

They were screaming more than they were singing. The words were all English anyway, foreign but knowable just by the sound of them, just by the music behind them; why would you need to understand every word anyway? Die had his eyes closed, his long hair flying out around him as he twisted enthusiastically, up on his toes with his skeletal arms in the air; Aoi was up on top of the armchair, his hips swaying as he tossed his hair back from his face, grinning.

There was a great flurry and banging of activity outside the door; they could no longer see Kai or Uruha through the glass. The view had turned white with nurses and orderlies, smoothing their white shirts and trying to look useful; one of them brandished a screwdriver in the air triumphantly and Die shot a slightly nervous glance at Ruki and Uruha.

'Last song, I guess,' he said in a light voice, flicking through the records, and Aoi set a hand on his shoulder.

'Make it something we can dance to, will you,' he said, his voice breathless from the exertion of his twisting, and Die held up a record triumphantly.

'Etta _James_?' Ruki said sceptically, and Die grinned as The Beatles hissed and crackled their finish, the record spinning uselessly.

'Gotta have soul,' he said. Behind him, the door shook ominously as the team of orderlies got the first of the screws out, and Die and lowered the needle onto the record. There was a brief crackle, and the player kicked in with _I Just Want to Make Love to You_ , the rhythm bold and bluesy. Die offered a gentlemanly hand to Aoi: 'Gonna dance with me?'

It was funny, but even as it was happening, Ruki knew it would be one of those fierce memories that would burn in his mind for his whole life: the door shaking, the music blasting, the rising feeling in his chest that he had done _something_ , after all – done _something_ – and Aoi and Die in the middle of the music room floor, arms wrapped around each other as they danced dirtily to the music, Die sliding a leg between Aoi's as the other man pulled their bodies close together.

Even the door stopped shaking for a moment; Ruki glanced over his shoulder and saw the orderly with the screwdriver standing with it clasped limply in his hand, forgotten, his mouth open.

It was stupid, but he wished fiercely that Kyo could have been there; he would have liked to have seen the look in his eyes; he wanted to know if he would have smiled or not, and shaken his head in that tired way he had, and then joined in.

It was only for a minute, though. Soon the door was shaking again in earnest, but even as it was finally yanked out of his frame and a torrent of white uniforms poured into the room, Ruki still couldn't stop smiling.

 

They had known, of course, that there would be trouble. The orderlies flooded into the room; the needle was pulled roughly from the record and Ruki found himself pushed back against the wall as two orderlies wrenched Die and Aoi apart. There was a tussle and Ruki gave a yell of outrage: one of the white-uniformed men had bypassed tugging on Aoi's arms entirely and had instead yanked him back by the hair, the movement so forceful that he went wheeling back and staggered straight into the wall; there was a crunching noise as his face made contact, and Die leapt forward furiously.

'You bastard _dick_ ,' he said nonsensically, his long arms grabbing for the orderly who had treated his friend so roughly, but the man seemed to have had enough; his face was contorted with anger, and rearing back, he struck Die hard across the face.

Suddenly, even with the music off, the room felt far too chaotic and noisy. It was like he'd only just started seeing things clearly: the dazed look on Aoi's face, the way Die crumpled to one side. He was taller than his opponent but he was thin, weak; he tried to cover his bleeding nose with his hands but his wrists were grabbed, forced behind his back like he was under arrest as they marched him from the room, Aoi making weak struggling motions to get back to him.

Ruki was scared now. Pissing off the orderlies was funny until they were really angry; until then, it seemed the three of them had forgotten who really had the control. Seeing the look of rage on their faces was sobering: the knowledge that they could hurt, if they wanted to; that there was nothing Ruki or Aoi or anybody could do about it. Pinned against the wall, he watched helplessly as a hypodermic was sunk into Aoi's upper arm and he began to sag like a doll. Something glinted in front of his eyes; another needle, this one for him.

'You can't treat us like this,' he said.

But he knew it wasn't true. There was a flash of metal, and the needle plunged into his skin; there was a sick feeling in his stomach, and his legs threatened to buckle.

He thought of Kyo, tangled up in the straitjacket, alone in the dark.

He thought of the other man's voice, saying words he had never expected it to say: _please don't put me in there. You know how it'll be if you put me in there_.

He thought of being on the hill in the rain and the mud, and Kyo's arm around his back, and how it felt like a million years ago.

He wobbled, and the floor rushed up to meet him.

 

The dreams, when Ruki had them, were vivid and surreal; pictures without stories. People with no faces, fish with crushed-diamond scales, teeth that nibbled on the tips of his fingers and turned them numb.

He was aware, at one point, of turning his face into the coolness of his pillow, and of the crackly sound of Kai's radio playing on through the night, and he wanted to try to say something so that his roommate wouldn't worry, but his tongue wouldn't work and he was so tired he thought he might die.

When he fell back into sleep, it was with the sensation of being dropped from a great height, and he had a dream that he was wandering alone through a landscape of sand and mirrors, and that the ground was the same colour as the sky.

Somebody, at some point, pressed a wet cloth to his face. The light was bright; he burrowed away from it.

He dreamed off all the lines in the world resolving themselves into a single face, all the dots and splashes of colour rushing together to form one body; a familiar face, messy haired, stupid glasses, speaking gently:

 _It's not that we haven't had our fun, but you know this was never meant to last...September just can't marry May; you know it can't. Don't cry. Don't cry. You know this was only ever a fling; you know it didn't_ mean _anything._

_We're still trying to make a beautiful image, Ruki._

_But youth_ attracts _us; it's_ compelling _. Youth is beautiful most of all because it is fleeting; it's ephemeral...it's the new 'floating world', so to speak..._

_You're very young, Ruki, okay? Sometimes you don't exactly know how the world works._

_It's not that we haven't had our fun._

_Never meant to last._

_Only ever a fling._

_It didn't_ mean _anything._

 _Ruki. I'm fond of you. But you know – you must know you're not the kind of person I could fall in love with_ really _._

_It's not that we haven't had our—_

 

Sunshine lay brightly across his face, and he blinked crossly. There was no radio, nor the gentle sound of Kai snuffling and settling in his sleep across the room. Everything was quiet.

Stiffly, his limbs not working exactly right, he pulled himself into a loose upright position. His head swam, and he shook it blearily. His arm felt bruised, and when he looked down at it, he saw a tiny red dot; the prick of the hypodermic.

He closed his eyes and let it all wash over him. _Crosstown traffic_. _Well shake it up baby, now...twist and shout..._

He lowered himself back down against the pillow limply, wishing the sunlight wasn't positioned so precisely across his eyes. There was a clock on the little table next to Kai's bed, but he couldn't make out the time on its face; it might as well have been a million miles away.

 _I Just Want to Make Love to You_. Die and Aoi dancing so close they might have been Siamese twins, legs and bodies sprouting from the same conjoined hips, grinning at each other. Kai's bright face in the window. The door, the door taken off it's hinges, the door, the door to the isolation room slamming shut.

_'Promise me you won't wait around outside the door.'_

Groggy, he pushed back the blanket covering him and set his feet unsteadily on the floor. It took a lot of effort to push himself to his feet, but he managed it; he swayed and almost toppled over, catching himself on the wall.

Aoi spinning into the wall. Die's nose bleeding.

He squeezed his eyes closed briefly and then walked, concentrating on putting one foot carefully in front of the other. It took him a while to negotiate the handle of the door – his fingers were having trouble gripping – but at last he got it and managed to stumble out into the quiet, shiny, sunlit hallway.

 

The only person in sight was a solitary nurse at the station, and she didn't look up when he tottered out into the corridor. He ignored her in turn. He noticed the music room door was still outside of its frame, propped against the wall uselessly. The door to the isolation room was shut, though, and when he tried it, he found it locked.

Fear twisted uneasily in his stomach, and limply, he forced his hand up to knock on Aoi and Die's door. It was hard to move his wrist with the force necessary; his body felt as though it had been drained overnight. There was no reply, and he knocked again, and finally spun dizzily around and gazed around the corridor listlessly.

Apart from the nurse, he felt like the only person alive. He could tell from the silence that the music room was empty, and the TV was quiet too.

'Where is everyone,' he mumbled, but his mouth bungled the words into a single messy slur, and he ran a shaking hand through his hair.

Maybe he was still dreaming.

Acting on sleepy impulse, he staggered over to the next bedroom door and knocked, his fist sliding lazily down the wood of the door. There was a long pause, and he was about to knock again when the door opened, and he saw Uruha standing there in his day clothes, looking relieved.

'Ruki,' he said, and glanced down the hall, 'You can come in. But shut the door behind you. And...' he gave a slight twitch, 'You know, don't – mess anything up.'

 

Ruki must have nodded, he thought; at least, his body sent him forwards and he closed the door clumsily behind him.

He'd never been in Uruha's room before. It was neat as a museum. On the shelf above the bed, there was a whole collection of _Local's Guide_ s; each one had a differently coloured spine and they were arranged in a perfect rainbow gradient; red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple to pink. There were still two beds, but one was just an empty frame. The other was made up with different sheets than those in the other dorm rooms; they were pure white and looked expensive.

Ruki focussed blearily. The made bed was occupied; there was a tangle of dark hair on the pillow. Following his sight line, Uruha frowned slightly and went back to the bed; moving very, very carefully, he climbed himself over the sleeping person's body and lay himself down gently beside it, curling a hand with bitten fingernails around its waist.

'Aoi,' Ruki managed to say. Uruha didn't answer, just pressed his nose into his sleeping friend's hair, but Aoi's eyes opened slightly. They spent a while searching the room; when they settled on Ruki, they were there a long time, trying to resolve his shape into something familiar.

Ruki noticed, with a feeling like a great chain being tugged through his body, that half of the other man's face was bruised purple.

'It's me,' he said at last, and Aoi tried to push his exhausted face into a smile. Weakly, he flapped a hand: _come here_.

Almost falling, Ruki went and knelt by the bed, and Aoi somehow gathered the energy to snort.

'Not there,' he said thickly, 'Idiot. Come up here.'

'I won't—'

'You'll fit.'

There was so much effortful shuffling that it made Ruki's head ache; Aoi's hand groped for the sleeve of his t-shirt and somehow Ruki pulled himself up onto the bed, lying gratefully on his side. The sheets felt as expensive as they'd looked.

'Let's go back to sleep,' Aoi said in a cracked voice, 'And Uruha will be here to make sure that we don't choke on our own sick...' his voice faded away and he flopped an arm that felt boneless around Ruki's waist, snuggling into him tiredly.

'I'm glad we're all friends,' Ruki managed to say, his vision wavering, and felt Aoi smile against his shoulder.

'It was a good stunt,' he said exhaustedly, 'Last night.'

'I got you into trouble.'

Aoi gave a loose shrug. 'Worth it.'

'Where's Die?'

'Kyo and Shinya's,' Aoi slurred, 'They wouldn't let us share. Not after...'

He didn't finish his sentence, and Ruki realised from the way the body against his own seemed to soften and the way its breaths seemed to deepen that Aoi had fallen back to sleep. Sighing softly, he wormed his way a little deeper into the sheets, thinking of Die in Kyo's bed.

Ridiculous that it should make him feel so jealous.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all for reading and sticking with me so far, and especially to all those who left kudos and comments; it's so appreciated!
> 
> This won't be updated again for at least a few days as I have house guests, so please bear with me - it's not been abandoned :)


	20. Chapter 20

When Ruki next woke up, everything felt different.

He was back in his own bed, for one thing, and there was no long body pressed against his own. The quality of the sunlight had changed, too; it was slanted through the dorm room at a dramatic angle, like it was either very early in the morning or very late in the afternoon.

The radio was playing, bursts of The Kinks – _All Day And All Of The Night_ – between the hiss of static, and Ruki rolled awkwardly over on his bed. On the mattress opposite, Kai was sitting cross-legged with a book in his hands; he looked over the top of it when Ruki stirred, though, and smiled.

He looked strange, Ruki thought: older than usual. His smile reached his eyes but it didn't light them up like it normally did.

'Hello,' he said, 'You've been out for a long time.'

'Right.' Ruki eased his body upright, letting a wave of dizziness pass over him, 'What time is it?'

'It's just past six. In the morning, I mean.' He paused. 'It's the first of September.'

'It's...' Ruki put a gentle hand to his forehead, ' _What_?'

'You've been out for two days.'

'Two _days_?'

Ruki tore through his memory, but it was like trying to grasp onto a slippery bar of soap; the harder he squeezed, the faster things seemed to pop out of his grasp. 'But I...'

'Don't you remember eating?'

' _Eating_?'

'Yes, they woke you up to eat. I mean...they fed you, you know.'

Ruki had a sudden impression of himself swaddled in a hospital gown, his mouth making stupid gumming motions as some white-uniformed orderly fed him a spoonful of grey mush. The image was such a deeply unpleasant one that he felt the urge to bat it away, as if it was something physical.

'Are Aoi and Die...?'

'Aoi's up. Die isn't. He's so thin, you know – these things really get him.'

'They fed Die, too?' Ruki asked quietly, and Kai fiddled with his hair, hesitating.

'He didn't know they were doing it, I don't think,' he said at last.

'And – Kyo?'

'They let him out of the isolation room last night.' Kai bit his lower lip lightly, 'He hasn't said anything, though.'

'Did he hear us?'

That strange, abbreviated version of Kai's ordinary smile flickered over his lips: 'The whole place _heard_ you.' His face relaxed a little. 'That was really something.'

'Yeah.'

'Aoi's face is pretty busted up. Die's too. His nose, I mean.'

'How can they do that,' Ruki said, not really a question, and Kai gave a loose shrug.

'Die'll never tell his parents, and if Aoi tried telling his, they wouldn't care.'

'Why wouldn't Die—?'

'He thinks they worry too much about him already. More than he deserves.' Kai fiddled with his hair again, his eyes following an invisible pattern on his grey blanket, 'There's nothing much else we can really do. Nobody believes anything we say, because we're crazy.'

Ruki shot him a sideways look, because Kai had never referred to himself that way before. The irony was that it made him seem saner than usual.

 

Ruki showered in a sort of fog that morning, feeling dirty from two days of continuous sleep. He stood under the spray for a long time, turning it up as hot as he dared, and by the time he wrapped himself in a towel and stepped out of his cubicle, the room had filled up with steam and the mirrors were opaque white slates. That was good: he didn't want to see himself. He was frightened he'd still look drugged up, and that there would be a look in his eyes that would stay with him; sort of defeated, sort of mindless. Like a zombie. He towelled his hair off slowly.

There was no way to pretend that it wasn't his fault. He'd talked them into it, both of them; even if they hadn't needed much persuading, none of it would have happened if Ruki had just kept his mouth shut.

He couldn't make himself regret it, though, he thought as he pulled clothes over his damp body. That was a difficult thing to swallow: if he was given the chance, he'd do it over again without question. It was worth it just for the hope that Kyo had heard the music; that he might have known he wasn't alone in there.

He knew the other man wouldn't be awake at that time of day, but when he left the bathroom, he couldn't help but tiptoe up close to Kyo and Shinya's bedroom door anyway. He hesitated in front of it for a long moment, but all was completely silent from beyond.

His hand stole out towards the door handle, but he pulled it back and told himself not to be so stupid. Wobbling only very slightly on his feet, he set off down the eerily silent hallway; he didn't like to be out before everybody else was up. The corridors looked all wrong with every door closed, like a series of closed eyes. The walls felt like they were breathing.

In the music room, the stack of records they'd left on the floor had been tidied neatly into a corner. The blood that had dripped onto the floor from Die's nose had been mopped up, but there was still a faint dent in the plaster of the wall where Aoi's face had hit it.

The ghosts of his friends seemed to flicker around the room; a flash of Aoi on top of the piano, a flash of Die clutching at his face.

 

What had really been so wrong with what they'd been doing, anyway? With _any_ of the things he'd done? All right, so he'd been late getting back – was it really so bad? So they'd played the music too loud, so they'd locked the door – nothing had gone _wrong_. Nobody had been hurt, or at least not until the staff had got involved.

Unconsciously, Ruki began pacing the room. Locked up for three months, shit. Pacing his prison. Five steps around this wall; seven steps around that wall.

How many heartbeats?

Breaths?

It wasn't fair. Kyo in the isolation room; that hadn't been fair. That tone Ruki had never heard in his voice before – that fearful tone – that hadn't been fair, either.

How many thoughts? How many actual, individual thoughts?

How many people?

How many ghosts?

Shinya at the piano and Aoi against the wall. Die swinging his hips. Kyo sat under the window, head tipped back, sunshine golden on his exposed throat.

Ruki himself, hanging around the edges, observing.

Not fair. Eiji, his exhibition, whoever Kaito was: not fair. Eiji calling him _kid_ all the time. Eiji fucking him when he didn't want to be fucked.

How many thoughts could you cram into a single room at one time? In your mind? How many flaws in a single body; could you draw it, map it out? Problem by problem, all the mistakes they had made in manufacturing; all the screws loose inside your head? All the pointless screams and the dreams that felt real and the times that your soul seemed to rise up from your body; couldn't you quantify that? Saying things that you knew weren't true and not bothering to bathe because it all felt pointless when you'd have to do it the next day anyway, and the next and the next after that, all stretching onward into forever?

Not fair.

Ruki took a deep breath. His hands were shaking a little, he realised, and he forced them to relax; he wanted them steady.

He went and fetched some paper and a pencil. In the music room he lay down carefully on his stomach, propped up on his elbows on the shiny floor, and spread his materials around him.

(His brother's special hospital-style bed in the corner: not fair.)

He began to draw.

 

After that, it seemed like the morning flew away around him. Every movement of his pencil seemed to nudge another great chunk of time in the past.

By the time he was interrupted and told it was time for breakfast, his breath was coming out quicker, and he had a strange elated feeling pressing up at his ribs. The work in front of him might have looked like nothing more than a bunch of formless scribbles to an outsider, but he couldn't explain why: he just knew there was something in them. He knew that they could resolve themselves into something beautiful, and that by doing so, they could make their substance beautiful as well: Die's bloody nose, Shinya flying out of control, Kai's long howling screams; all beautiful. All scribbled, somewhere, one line in a mess of others.

'I don't want to eat,' Ruki said distractedly, 'I'm not hungry.'

'Tough titty,' said a familiar voice from above him, and he glanced up quickly.

'Aoi!' He scrambled to his feet, 'Aoi, you – your _face_.'

The other man had a cigarette propped in the corner of his mouth, but that was about the only normal-looking thing about him; the entire left side of his face was mottled purple and swollen, and though Aoi cracked a grin, it looked painful.

'Yeah, I know. I look like shit.'

'It's all my fault,' Ruki said quietly, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

'You know as well as I do that I didn't get hurt for playing music loudly. That one orderly with the hairy arms is a total homophobe; remember when he told Kai off for cuddling up to Uruha on the sofa? He's been waiting for an excuse ever since he got here.'

He caught the expression on Ruki's face and rolled his eyes again, grabbing the smaller man by his arm and beginning to pull him in the direction of the dining room, 'Seriously, it's fine. No major damage, okay? The bruising will go down.' He slid another glance at Ruki and sighed fondly, 'Take that look off your face, will you? Nobody died.'

'But Die—'

'Oh, come on, Ruki. A few full meals and some enforced rest time probably did him some good. And you can't say it wasn't worth it.'

'But your face—'

'I'll have the memory long after my face is back its glorious original state. No scars. No bumps. Forget it, okay?'

'But—'

' _Forget_ it,' Aoi said emphatically. 'Look, whatever happens, it's worth it. Like nailing Uruha's dad with that cake. It's good for morale; or at least it's good for _my_ morale. Even if I knew they were going to break them off, I'd still always want to stick two fingers up at this fucking place. You get me?'

He steered Ruki easily into the dining room and pushed him down into his usual seat, where there was already a tray waiting: hot rice, a raw egg, a small dish of soy sauce. Pickles, miso.

'Everyone was waiting for you,' Aoi said, his voice as always just threatening to slip over into sarcasm, 'Since you're the man of the hour, and everything.'

Ruki chose to ignore that. He mumbled an embarrassed _good morning_ and picked up his chopsticks, beginning to poke at his food disinterestedly; he didn't feel remotely hungry. All he wanted to do was draw, but...

He stiffened suddenly and glanced upward.

 _Everyone was waiting for you_...it was true. Even Shinya, normally deaf and blind to any activity around the ward, was smiling at him with his hand over his mouth; even Die, ashen-faced and slumped sideways in his chair, was waving away the spoonful of rice porridge being offered to him and attempting to focus on Ruki's face.

Even Kyo.

 

He was in his usual seat up at the far end of the table, and he wasn't eating. His hair was standing almost on end, and Ruki could picture him raking his hands through it a thousand times.

He looked different. Small. Logically Ruki knew that he was small, but this was the first time he'd ever really looked it. All the strange angular bones that made up his body appeared fragile, jutting against his pale skin, and his eyes looked very deep and black in his face; they were bloodshot and darkly shadowed, as if he hadn't slept in days.

He nodded at Ruki and pulled his cracked lips into a tired smile.

'Hi.'

'Hi.'

They were interrupted by a crash from Die's end of the table; he had been supporting his head on the heel of his hand, and the whole arrangement had toppled. He blinked dazedly, half asleep, and gave a more effortful shove to the hand holding the spoon of porridge by his face.

'At least he finally got to try pentobarbital,' Aoi said sarcastically, but he reached out to give his friend's hair a soft stroke. 'C'mon, Die, eat some breakfast.'

The redhead made a non-committal noise and slumped down further in his chair; he looked exhausted. His nose didn't look broken, but it was bordered with two black eyes that were welling involuntarily with tears of exhaustion. He said something, but it was incomprehensible.

'Come on,' Aoi said, gentler. 'Just a few spoonfuls and they'll let you go back to sleep. Yeah?'

Die's eyes fell closed, and he made a sound like a snore. Aoi rolled his eyes.

'If you take another mouthful I'll suck you off.'

' _Aoi_ ,' the nurse trying to feed Die whispered sharply, and Aoi held both his hands up.

'Sorry, sorry. Just thought I'd try _something_ to get him to eat, since you _suck_ at it so much.'

The nurse simply sighed and settled herself deeper into her chair, brushing the tip of her spoon coaxingly against Die's lower lip. He kept his eyes closed, but opened his mouth to take it.

Ruki realised that he must have looked like that – him and Aoi and Die, the three of them as numb and empty as the eye of a hurricane – and suppressed a shudder, starting to mix his food up unenthusiastically. He poured a little soy sauce into the bowl with his egg, mixed it roughly, then pressed a small well into the centre of his rice bowl to stir it all together.

This had always been his mother's standard breakfast; rice and soy sauce and raw eggs was an easy meal for her hectic young family. Before the disease had progressed quite so far, it had been something Hiroshi had been able to eat himself, if he'd used a spoon, but gradually those days had passed. Or perhaps _passed_ was the wrong word, because it was more like they'd had more of a fading out period: sometimes he could hold the spoon just fine but sometimes his hand would sort of spasm and he'd let it drop. You could just never be sure. After a while, though, it had been quicker for him not to try, and their mother had fed him just like the nurse was feeding Die.

Ruki wondered how that would feel: somebody telling you to stop trying because it was no good.

He knew his parents were good people, and that they had been busy and that maybe it was painful for them to watch his brother attempt to feed himself.

Still he couldn't think of any good reason not to have let him at least try.

 

After breakfast Ruki waited, watching Die being dispatched sleepily back to his bed; he wasn't really walking, just tottering with a nurse under each elbow, going in the right direction more or less by accident.

He wanted to draw – he had a keen sense of panic that the ideas and the fresh surge of inspiration would suddenly evaporate, like mist before a sweltering humid day – but seeing Kyo at breakfast, something had tugged at him. It felt almost exactly like a cruel hand had reached into his chest and given his heart a sharp yank; he could feel it thudding strangely against the confines of his ribcage, hurting in an earnest kind of way that made his eyes want to water even though there was nothing to cry about.

'Come into the music room with me,' he said, standing right in front of Kyo so it couldn't be mistaken who he was talking to. The other man smiled.

'Going to lock me in with you?' he said, his voice hoarser than normal.

'Not this time.'

Outside, it was a glorious looking day, and inside the ward it was beginning to feel stuffy already. Ruki sat down uncertainly in the centre of his drawings, recognising the shape his small body had made as the papers had snowed down around him, and Kyo took his usual spot underneath the window. Sighing, he tipped his head back and let his eyes fall closed.

'You heard the music?' Ruki checked, and Kyo smiled wearily.

'Yes. It helped.'

'Die chose the songs.'

'It wasn't the songs; it was thinking of you out here, moving around in the space.'

_Pretend you're outside._

'Is it the darkness you don't like, or the smallness?' Ruki asked curiously. Eyes still closed, Kyo began fumbling with his cigarette packet; he popped one between his lips and lit up.

'Both,' he answered shortly, his word a cloud of blue smoke.

'Why?'

'They're unpleasant things.'

'Yeah, but...' he floundered, and Kyo cracked one eye open to look at him.

'The truth?' he offered gruffly, and Ruki nodded. He watched Kyo's open eye flick towards the empty door frame and back.

'I used to get locked in a cupboard as a punishment. I started feeling like I couldn't stand it.' He shrugged. 'That's the truth.'

'The whole truth?'

Kyo gave him a wider smile, showing teeth this time.

'Why didn't you want me to wait outside the door?'

Kyo's cigarette had gone out; he relit it carefully.

'I don't know.'

'Liar.'

Kyo nodded. 'I didn't want you to overhear if I got worked up in there.'

'You think that'd really matter, after all the times you've seen me in a state?'

Kyo shrugged. 'Snap decision,' he said tiredly. Idly, he picked up one of the pieces of paper on the floor and, glancing quickly at Ruki's face for permission, examined it. He looked at it for a very long time.

'Can I ask a favour,' he said eventually, and Ruki nodded. Kyo paused, fiddling with his cigarette and finally stubbing it out, only half-smoked. 'Can I sit here while you carry on drawing?' he asked at last, his voice blunt.

'What?'

Kyo shook his head. 'No conversation,' he said, 'You just draw. I just sit.'

Ruki felt the corners of his lips twitching upwards. 'I guess.'

Kyo gave a single slow nod, and then tilted his head back, letting his eyes shut again. He looked exhausted, Ruki thought, but more peaceful than he had at the breakfast table.

And he'd given up a secret.

How many others were there?

And how many could you fit inside a single person? And were they contained on the inside or worn on the outside, in dark circles under your eyes or in shaking hands?

Ruki picked up his pencil and began drawing again, his lines demarcating quantities, qualities, tallies and breadths; he stared down at his paper and had the impression of sinking right down into it, safely, to a place where everything else went away for a while. All the outside radio signals, silenced. The bullshit stopped.

Underneath the window, Kyo quietly fell asleep, a restful expression at last on his pale, tired face.

 


	21. Chapter 21

It took about two weeks for the swelling in Aoi's face to go down. By the time they were halfway through the month, his face was back to its usual shape but was still mottled green and yellow along the jawline and around his eye, and Ruki caught him standing with his cheek pressed up against the dent in the music room wall, to see where exactly he fit into it.

A general air of listlessness had stolen over their floor of the sanatorium; after the rebellion in the music room, both Die and Aoi had been restricted to the ward as well. Since Kai didn't often go further than the lawn, this had the knock-on effect of keeping Uruha inside too; he became extra twitchy and aggravated, and much more inclined to snap when his rituals were interrupted.

The change seemed to come with the weather. It wasn't cold yet, exactly, but it was raining more, and Ruki could feel it dampening all their spirits; another day stuck inside with only the clouds to look at, the clouds and the hills, exactly the same day after day – Kai trying to count the raindrops on a window, tracing their trickling descents with his index finger; Die doing sit ups, a look of grim determination in his eyes even as he joked breathlessly with Aoi; Uruha counting grains of rice at the dinner table. In the middle of it all there was Ruki, flat on his stomach on the floor and surrounded by paper, most often in the music room because the light was better in there.

 _We're acting like a bunch of mental patients_.

Aoi playing guitar until his fingers bled, on the occasions he was allowed to take the guitar out of the cage; Shinya whispering to himself over the chess set; Kyo sitting under the window, reading each new book as Ruki passed them to him: _A Clockwork Orange_ , _The Woman in the Dunes, Nineteen Eighty-Four_.

In group therapy Die and Aoi had a fight about Die's continuous exercising, and a splintery silence existed between them for days.

On September 25 Ruki noticed his shower water was sloshing around his ankles, and found handfuls of dyed red hair clogging the drain.

Aoi bruised and fidgety, Die with lustreless skin and calluses on his knuckles, Kyo with his pinched, tired face angled permanently up to the sun.

 _We_ look _like a bunch of mental patients_.

 

On September 28 Ruki got a letter with the asylum address printed on the envelope in his mother's neat, compact script.

Before he opened it, he lit a cigarette. He was in the music room as usual, his drift of papers surrounding him and his mostly silent companion reading under the window; feeling strangely rattled, he boosted himself up to sit on top of the piano and tore the letter jaggedly open. Several glossy postcards slipped out of the envelope and landed on the floor beneath his feet, and Ruki gripped the edge of the piano hard.

 _Eiji_. The postcards showed pieces Ruki had seen him working on, and some that he hadn't – a range of abstract woodblock prints; a mixed media piece comprised mostly of paper scraps. He didn't make any move to pick them up, but stared at them dully as he unfolded his mother's letter. Puffing hard on his cigarette, he scanned through it – past the _darling Ruki_ and the _must apologise about how it was when your father and I sat in_ and the _I don't know if these are things you want to talk about more with us_. She spent a whole paragraph describing the lodger and her habits, how sweet she was and how studious.

 

_As you can see from the postcards, we finally went to that exhibition! We picked up every postcard the gift shop had so we could send them to you._

_It was a very peculiar exhibition, Ruki – I suppose you would understand what it's all about far better than your father and I would. To us some of these blocky ones just look like mess! There were some pieces that I feel you would probably need to see with your own eyes to get the full effect. Your father's favourite was called_ Love Letter _and apparently incorporated an entire torn up love note in it, with other things as well – very strange things like scribbled over snapshots and coffee filters and cigarette ends. A bit 'out there' for me. (Your father just likes to feel he's keeping up with what's current.) Anyway, at least it was nice and quiet. I had worried about crowds, but luckily we were just about the only ones in there._

_Hopefully you'll enjoy the postcards. I still have high hopes that you will be able to see the exhibition yourself before it finishes, though unfortunately I've heard they are planning to close it early._

_Have you been working on anything recently? I miss seeing the pieces you've made. I hope it doesn't disappoint you that your father and I don't have much understanding of art, or of your art in particular. You know we are always very eager to have you explain it to us. Ever since you were very small, I've felt like I should be able to use your pictures to figure out what's going on inside your head, but I've never been as good at it as I've wanted to be._

 

He let the hand holding the letter drop limply onto his lap. While he'd been reading Kyo had come to stand at his elbow, and the other man was examining the postcards that he'd gathered from the floor.

'Your artist?' he asked, and Ruki shrugged.

'I don't think you can really call him my artist any more.' He folded his mother's letter back up.

'He's not as good as you,' Kyo said frankly, flicking through the postcards. Ruki snorted.

'No?'

'No.'

'You don't have to say that.'

Kyo raised an eyebrow. 'I don't _have_ to say anything, but if I think it then I might as well.' He deposited the postcards decisively on the surface of the piano, leaning back on his elbows. Ruki picked them up and began to shuffle through them slowly, his dark eyes intent.

'You know what's weird?' he asked.

A slight smile curled around the corner of Kyo's mouth. 'I can't even imagine.'

'I don't...' Ruki sighed, turning the last postcard this way and that between his palms. 'I don't miss him,' he finished finally. 'I _did_. I missed him like crazy.'

'But not any more?'

'No, I mean it sort of feels like I _never_ missed him. I try to remember what things I missed about him – like the actual, specific things – and I can't do it.' He sparked his lighter distractedly. 'I hate it when people leave.'

'Even if they're no good?'

Ruki stared at him. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

Kyo shrugged, his gaze steady. 'It doesn't seem like he was nice to you.'

'He was _nice_.'

 

Glowering, Ruki dropped down from the piano, placing his feet squarely on the floor so that he could round on Kyo properly, 'He could be _really_ nice. You don't know anything about him.'

'I know what you've told me,' Kyo said in a neutral voice, and Ruki ground out his cigarette angrily.

'Big deal,' he snapped, 'You heard me complaining, so what? He still mentored me. He still stayed with me for _two years_. He still – got me a present on my birthday, and everything.'

'Uh huh. Did he watch you open it?'

'Watch me – _what_?'

'Presents. Did he stay to watch you open them?'

'Well – so what if he didn't? That doesn't _mean_ anything! He was busy!'

'Working?' Kyo said, and the look in his eyes made Ruki want to hit at him.

' _Yes_ , working!'

'Uh huh. What'd he say when you told him about your brother?'

'Why would I tell him about that?'

'Because the people who love you are supposed to know,' Kyo said forcefully.

'You don't know anything,' Ruki hissed, grabbing on a handful of his own hair and agitatedly yanking on it so hard that tears came to his eyes, ' _How_ would you know anything? Have you had a lot of relationships, holed up in here? Been really _serious_ about anybody?'

'He didn't treat you right.'

'Because he wasn't _there_ for some stuff? Because he didn't know _every single tiny thing_ about me?'

'Because he hid you, and he lied about you, and he ditched you.'

'That's – grown-up relationships are just like that. You have to make sacrifices; you have to...you have to accept that you can't always come first with people; that other things are just more important.'

'Do you,' Kyo said quietly, and Ruki felt a few hairs rip loose from his scalp as his fist tightened.

'Yes, you do,' he said defiantly. 'I don't care if it's not – not _romantic_ , or like a relationship in a book. That's _real_. That's how it is.'

'So he wasn't the most important thing in your world, either?' Kyo asked, and Ruki hesitated.

'I had less going on,' he said.

His voice sounded lame even to him. He clenched his fists even tighter, his knuckles white: 'You wouldn't understand. I'm sorry, you just wouldn't. You've been in here too long.'

 

Kyo went quiet at that. He gave Ruki a long, painful sort of look, the kind that made him wriggle uncomfortably, and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse and soft.

'You deserve to come first,' he said finally, a resigned sort of look on his face, 'Sorry. That's just how I feel.' He shrugged. 'There's no point otherwise.'

Ruki stared at him. There was a sort of burning feeling in his throat that made him want to cry, and he swallowed hard.

'Well, it's not up to you,' he said stiffly.

'Correct.'

Ruki nodded. Not sure what to do with himself, he lit up another cigarette, but let it smoulder in an ashtray after the first drag because it made him feel ill. His fingers shook, he noticed, when he put it down, and he curled them back into fists. He was standing in front of Kyo, but he stared hard at the floor. He watched as two fat tears hit the ground between his feet.

He could feel the rest of them sloshing around inside of him unsteadily, like an overfilled bucket. He sniffed and cleared his throat, and gave a harsh sob.

'Ruki—'

'Are you a fucking idiot?' He grabbed Kyo's wrists, pulling them towards him, ' _Do_ something. Hug me.' He jammed the other man's arms into place around his back and pushed himself into his chest, clutching hold of two great handfuls of Kyo's t-shirt so he couldn't be pried loose. He ignored the way Kyo's breathing turned sort of shallow and fast, and the frozen sort of feeling to his body; he squeezed him all the harder. The urge to cry was incredible, irresistible as a cough, and he pressed his eyes tightly shut.

'You think I'm an idiot,' he said, speaking into Kyo's neck so his voice came out muffled, 'You think I don't know that he didn't care about me, but I do know. All he wanted was somebody to have sex with him and tell him that he was brilliant. He didn't want me. He didn't even _like_ me. I _know_.'

His shoulders under Kyo's hands felt as delicate as a cat's; they heaved violently.

'I don't think you're an idiot,' Kyo said uncomfortably.

'Yeah, right,' Ruki said bitingly, sounding as if he had a heavy cold. 'If that's what you really think then you're as stupid as I am.'

'You don't think maybe Okada is the stupid one?'

Ruki snorted sadly. 'How'd you figure that?'

'Well,' Kyo said awkwardly, 'he had somebody who loved him this much, and he let that go. To me, that's stupid.'

'It's only _stupid_ if you love them back.'

Kyo sighed, his nervous breath ruffling Ruki's hair. 'I'm not good at this,' he said bluntly, 'And I'm not going to be able to explain, so you're just going to have to believe me: he did a stupid thing. Leaving you, treating you like that; it was stupid.'

'You make it sound so simple.'

'It is simple.'

Ruki sighed. 'Hug me properly,' he said. 'You feel like a dead tree.'

'I haven't done this in a long time.'

'Yeah, but it's kind of like riding a bike. I assume you didn't forget the basic theory,' Ruki said acidly, nestling his face deeper into Kyo's neck. He could feel the point where the pulse leapt anxiously under his skin; a dead tree, but beating with life.

 

He felt strangely calm.

He felt purged, as though he'd sucked all the poison out of a snakebite.

It was a relief. It was like lying down and knowing that he was no longer able to trip over. Like being in deep water and deciding to sink instead of thrashing. He felt Kyo tentatively rest his cheek against the side of his head; there was a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Kyo's body felt unusual beneath his own; it was harder than Eiji's had been, thinner, and more compact. There was no awkward placement of arms or shoulders, because their heights were matched almost exactly, hip to hip, chest to chest, neck to neck; like a mirror image. He slid his hands carefully up Kyo's back and felt muscle tense as wire beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, the heat of his skin burning through the cotton.

Ruki angled his hips suddenly away, feeling slightly sick with the rush that had gone through him. He closed his eyes against the skin of Kyo's neck, concentrating hard on the pulse that thrashed there. He wondered if Kyo could feel how his own heart was doing the same, or hear how his own breath had the same quick, frightened note humming beneath it, as if his fear was gasping below his skin.

' _Cuddle_ cuddle cuddle,' said a sly voice from nearby, and Ruki jumped so hard he almost headbutted Kyo in the jaw; he shoved the other man away roughly, tugging his t-shirt down to hide the growing bulge in his pants. Aoi was lounging in the empty door frame, a cigarette in his hand and a smug look on his face. He blew a long plume of grey smoke at them and strode into the room. 'This what you do on all your long walks?'

'Shut up,' Ruki mumbled, pushing the postcards into a neatly stacked pile just for something to do with his hands, 'I was just – I got a letter from my mum, that's all.'

'She well?' Aoi asked unconcernedly. He draped his lean body elegantly over an armchair, taking a short puff from his cigarette, 'What's with the postcards?'

'She – my parents went to an exhibition they thought I'd like.'

'Your mentor guy?' Aoi guessed flatly, and Ruki gave a short nod. 'Can I see?'

Wordlessly Ruki handed over the stack of postcards, relieved that the erection that had started when he'd pressed his body against Kyo's was at last going down. He felt both angry and grateful both towards Aoi, who settled himself deeper in his armchair with a wriggle of his shoulders and peered at each of the postcards in turn.

'Where's Die?' Ruki asked, trying to puncture the big balloon of silence that seemed to be swelling between the three of them.

'We're not joined at the hip.'

'Yes you are. Where is he?'

Aoi sighed, flicking ash onto the floor, 'He's having a visit from mummy and daddy, and they're not happy.'

'Not happy?'

Out of the corner of his eye, Ruki saw Kyo return to his spot under the window, pulling his knees up to his chest and tilting his head back, eyes closed.

 

'Not happy at all,' Aoi said idly, and then flicked his eyes up to look at Ruki. 'He's lost weight again,' he said bluntly, 'And they're having a _frank talk_. Want to decide if this is the right _place_ for him. If it's _good_ for him.'

'Where else could he go?'

' _I_ don't know,' Aoi said moodily. He dropped the postcards in a pile on the arm of the chair, 'These are shitty. You're better off without him.' He took a short pull on his cigarette, 'Of course, Die doesn't _want_ to go anywhere else, unless it's home. But why would _that_ matter?'

'You really think they'd move him?'

Aoi shrugged helplessly. His face was twisted into a bitter expression, but his eyes looked wide, 'I don't know. I know they _shouldn't_. I can get him to eat; I just need to...figure it out.' He sighed. 'I can't believe they're even talking about it. If talking solved anything we'd all have gotten out of here a long fucking time ago.' He paused. 'Die's doctor said I was a bad influence,' he said in a smaller voice.

'A bad _influence_?'

'Yeah. She said Die's been behaving _rebelliously_ and that...' he swallowed, his throat working angrily, 'There have been _worrying incidents_ in our relationship.'

He caught Ruki's questioning look and rolled his eyes. 'I danced with him,' he snapped. 'Big – fucking – _deal_. I don't give a shit if boys don't dance together outside; they do in here. There is _nothing_ else to do. Are they scared I'm gonna fuck him just because we danced?'

Ruki was pretty sure that was exactly what they were scared of, but he didn't really know how to say so. He gave a non-committal sort of shrug, but Aoi seemed to catch his meaning anyway: his eyes narrowed.

'I wouldn't fuck him if he begged me,' he said deliberately, 'Not while he's like this. He's _weak_ ; don't they see that? I don't even know if he could get it up for more than five minutes at a time. His body's giving up.'

He stabbed his cigarette furiously into the arm of the chair, grinding it out. 'If he dies,' he said savagely, 'I'll never forgive him. I swear to god I won't.'

Ruki placed a hand quietly on Aoi's shoulder, and the other man closed his eyes wearily. A thin tear trickled down his cheek, and Ruki did him the greatest kindness he could think of: he pretended not to see.

 


	22. Chapter 22

A vivid blue midday sky with a conjoined sun and moon, a positive and a negative rolled into one.

The itch of grass on his bare back, and the smell of it rising around him, and the still summer air shimmering.

High up again. Perched on a summit the size of a bed with nothing above Ruki but Kyo and nothing above Kyo but sky.

Was it really him? He lifted his head and the hills were reflected in his eyes. The hands were his; large and angular, with long fingers. He looked, just looked, but it made Ruki aware of how naked he was; his skin prickled. Cool: the hands on him were cool. They held him lightly. A palm closed over the skin of his inner thigh; long fingers wrapped around his cock, and he rolled his hips up against them.

It was the strangest feeling, as though some long-dormant sense was beginning to awaken; some sleepy creature opening an amber-coloured eye. His body was keen, his knees spreading and his lips parting; he kept his eyes open; his arms wound themselves around Kyo's back.

'I want you,' he said in a voice that seemed to float, and Kyo's lips pressed against the hollow of his throat.

_There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief_

_There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief..._

Ruki sat up, looking around for where the music could possibly be coming from; he held tight to Kyo's body, which squashed easily beneath his grip, and his bleary eyes registered an empty bed opposite his own and a white wall covered with colourful posters. Ruki blinked, pulling himself more upright. The head of his cock brushed against his bed sheets, achingly hard, and he rubbed a sleepy hand over his eyes.

The music must have been coming from down the hall. He was completely alone. He bit his lip.

Falling back against his pillow, he shoved his hand down inside his underwear and clutched his cock needily, trying to replicate the feeling of those long, strong fingers wrapped around him; biting his lip, he started to stroke himself. His thumb swept over the head of his dick, smearing the tiny bead of moisture that had collected there, and he made a low noise in the back of his throat.

 _It would feel so good if he was inside me_.

He smothered a groan at the thought, his hips bucking up into his hand. He wasn't even sure if he believed it; the times he'd had another man inside him before had been distinctly average, running towards painful, but the thought of Kyo fucking him was somehow thrilling; it made him grasp his cock tighter and bite down hard on his lip, trying to stifle the noises in his throat. After so long it felt so good to touch himself that his hand was shaking around his dick and his breath was coming in harsh little pants, and it was so _easy_ to imagine it – imagine Kyo's eyes flicking over his body at that exact moment, dark and close and full of desire, full of some nameless urge to grab Ruki hard and kiss his mouth and push their bodies together—

He gasped as he came, his fingers squeezing around the head of his dick desperately. His cum felt hot and and wet against his palm, and he closed his eyes, breathing shallowly for a moment against his pillow. There was a rushing sound in his ears that made it hard to hear, and he tried to calm his breathing; trick his body into slowing the frenzied thrashing of his heart.

So now he'd done it. He was surprised that he didn't feel panicked. He felt sort of light, actually, like he'd taken off a layer of clothing that he hadn't really needed.

The music from the corridor grew louder, but underneath it there was shouting. Ruki sighed.

Time to get up.

 

He didn't shower that morning, just brushed his teeth and gave his face a quick wash; it was stupid, but he didn't feel ready to wash Kyo's touch off his body quite so soon.

No matter how imaginary that touch might have been.

He saw Uruha in the bathroom, hanging around the sinks and tying and retying his hair; he gave Ruki an unfocussed nod. His fingernails were bitten too short again.

'They're fighting,' he said in a distracted sort of way.

'Who?'

'Aoi and Die.'

'They've been fighting a lot recently.'

Uruha shook his head. 'Properly this time.' He looked into his own eyes in the mirror and said, apparently to himself: 'Aoi doesn't respect anybody's parents.' He blinked, and his gaze found Ruki's again, 'Did I tell you my father wants me to come home? He says he doesn't want me to be left here and that I should be out in three weeks.'

'Really?'

'Yes, _really_ ,' Uruha said acidly, glaring.

'Oh. Well...that's great.'

'I know.' He tugged on his hair.

'D'you think you're...you know...' Ruki foundered, 'Better?'

'Of course I'm better,' Uruha said delicately.

'Right.' Ruki paused, unsure of what to say. 'What time is it?' he asked lamely and Uruha gave him a vague sort of shrug; as far as he was concerned, that seemed to be the end of the conversation he'd started. He went back to staring grimly at his own reflection in the mirror, seeking out his own eyes between the splattered flecks of toothpaste and soap. He touched his chin twelve times to his right shoulder and twelve times to his left shoulder. His poor bitten fingers were gripping the sink hard.

Ruki wanted to touch his back or say something, but he he didn't know what; in the face of Uruha's horrible focus, he felt helpless. From down the corridor, the shouting grew louder, and Ruki went off to find them.

 

'So are you leaving, then?' Aoi asked hotly.

' _No_ , I'm not leaving! I told my parents it was better here than anywhere else, but I do _want_ to go home, you know.'

'Did you tell your parents I wasn't a bad influence?' Aoi demanded, and Die raked an aggravated hand through his hair.

'No.'

'But they asked,' Aoi said accusingly, and Die gritted his teeth.

'Did you ever stop to think that maybe you _are_ a bad influence?' he said, his voice rising, 'I never did shit like this in my life before I met you.'

'What the _fuck_ , Die!'

They were standing almost on opposite sides of the TV room, the television flickering blandly between them, and Ruki had never seen either of them so angry; Aoi seemed to actually be shaking, his whole posture tense as a cat's, whilst Die's normally deathly pale face was flushed deep red, his trademark easy grin completely gone.

'You know what I mean.'

'No, I'm afraid I _don't_. Shit like _what_ , exactly?'

'Like...' Die's face was getting redder, but Ruki thought this time it might have been from embarrassment; it was almost matching his hair. 'Like – kissing _boys_.'

Aoi shot him a look of pure disgust. 'Grow up,' he said acidly.

'No...' Die paused, flustered, ' _You_ grow up! Year after year you just hide away in here, making everybody you meet just like you.'

'Like _me_?'

' _Bitter_!' Die yelled. 'Bitter, and... _twisted_ , and...you know, just because _your_ family fucked you over, it doesn't mean _everybody's_ parents are shit. Just because you've been let down, it doesn't mean _everybody_ in the outside world is an asshole.'

'Right,' Aoi said sarcastically, 'You're right, I'm _completely_ the one with no grip on reality here.'

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?'

'It means that _you – are – dying_ ,' Aoi said, his words very loud and clear and dripping with venom, 'You are _killing_ yourself and you can't even face up to it. Don't you fucking _dare_ roll your eyes at that! Don't you _dare!_ '

'Spare me the dramatics,' Die said angrily, and as Ruki watched Aoi lurched across the room to grasp him by his wrists.

'Look at yourself!' he shouted, shaking his friend roughly, ' _Look_ at yourself! You're wasting away and you think you're being _so_ smart, you think nobody knows as long as you keep smiling and dancing around and being nice to the doctors, but _I_ know. You think I can't tell when you've just puked up what you've eaten? You think I can share a room with you and somehow be oblivious to that?'

'Fuck you,' Die spat.

'Fuck _you_. You think you're throwing up food but you know what it _actually_ is? It's just a little bit more of your life going through the pipes. Down to the fucking sea.' He shook him again, his knuckles white around Die's thin arms, 'Having trouble staying upright, are you? Finding it a bit difficult to breathe sometimes? Seeing spots when you stand up? Couldn't get an erection if your life fucking _depended_ on it?'

'Shut – shut up—'

'Hair falling out, is it?' Aoi continued viciously, 'Shivering all the time, are you? Don't really have enough energy to shiver, though, do you? _Fuck_ you!'

'Shut up,' Die said, firmer, his bony fists clenched, 'You don't know what you're _talking_ about!'

'Oh, don't I?'

'No, you don't!' Die wrenched his arms away, glowering, 'You're just like everybody else, you realise that? You think you and I have some deep connection because you tell me not to die every now and again, like that's all there is to it. _Fuck_ off, Ruki,' he interrupted himself suddenly, turning his burning gaze towards him, 'Don't just stand there. Fuck off and do something. Fuck off and go fuck Kyo, okay? You're a fucking little queer.'

' _Die_!' Aoi hissed, and sent Ruki an apologetic sort of look. 'He doesn't mean that—'

'I meant it, and I'm not sorry,' Die said wildly, his eyes flashing; he pressed the heels of his hands hard against his temples, 'I'm not sorry, I'm not, I'm _not_. I'm...' he bit down hard on his lower lip, and Ruki made a small noise in the back of his throat; Die's eyes had filled with tears and his knees seemed to be threatening to buckle; he took a few cautious steps backwards and let his body fall into an armchair. He leant forwards, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and as Ruki and Aoi silently watched, his whole body convulsed in a violent sob.

 

'Die...'

'I'm so _fucked_ ,' came the redhead's choked voice.

'Die...Die, fuck. You're not.' Aoi sent Ruki a scared look and the two of them edged forward, Ruki placing a cautious hand on Die's shoulders and Aoi squatting down on his haunches in front of him, placing both his palms gently on Die's knees, 'Die, it's okay. It's going to be all right.'

Sniffing loudly, Die gave his face a harsh wipe and looked at them: Ruki and Aoi, nervously by his side. With another restrained sob, he shook his head and grabbed both their hands, hanging on tightly.

'Sorry Ruki,' he said in a small voice. He tried for a smile, but the outcome was pathetic. 'I didn't mean that.'

'It's okay,' Ruki said carefully. 'I think – maybe I am a queer, so...'

' _Obviously_ you are,' Die said, his voice distorted.

Ruki felt Aoi bump his knee against his leg companionably. 'Die...'

'And I'm sorry, Aoi,' Die said, his voice nearly a whisper.

'I'm sorry too,' Aoi said. 'I'm just...I'm scared. You're really scaring me, Die. You look frightening these days.'

'But you love me,' Die said humourlessly.

'Oh sure. True love. Bony-o and Juliet.'

'A Thinderella story,' Die added, his lips twitching, and Aoi threw him a grudging smile. A thin tear ran down Die's cheek, and he sighed heavily, leaning forward to rest his face in his hands again.

'I'm so fucked,' he repeated softly. This time, Aoi didn't argue. Where Ruki patted his back, Die's shoulder blades jutted like wings.

 

It was a peculiar sort of day. So much had happened before breakfast that Ruki felt like he'd lived through it all already: through all the other things – group therapy, calling his parents, putting on a record in the music room – he seemed to be creeping through some kind of fog. Their meal was painful; Ruki couldn't meet Kyo's eyes and Die was so worked up that he seemed to be very genuinely unable to eat, for once: he stared his plate down in a distressed silence and finally lurched up from the table, one hand clapped over his mouth, and ran into the bathroom.

Aoi stared sadly at his friend's full tray, banged his fist on the table, and yelled ' _fuck_!' so loudly Shinya clapped his hands over his ears, shaking his head from side to side. It seemed like once he started shaking it he couldn't stop, and Kyo quietly got to his feet and led him out, his touch on his friend's elbow so stiffly, awkwardly tender that Ruki felt sad.

He spent the afternoon lying on his stomach on the music room floor.

Outside the sky was a flat grey colour, and it was drizzling; over the course of the afternoon, the windows gradually became misted over, and Kai took up a residence in front of the window Kyo usually sat under, his radio clasped loosely by his side. Slowly, he raised his index finger and used it to draw a pattern in the condensation, a cryptic series of dots and dashes that he rubbed away when he noticed Ruki looking.

'Sorry,' Ruki said falteringly, and then, 'Are you okay?'

'Oh, yeah.' Kai rested his forehead against the windowpane, 'I just hate the rain.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. It's gloomy. And it's dangerous.'

'Don't worry about him,' Aoi muttered in Ruki's ear, coming up behind him and making him jump, 'He's just been taking his medicine, that's all.'

'This is – his medicine makes him like this?'

'Yeah. Fucked up, isn't it? Half the people here are on anti-depressants and he's on drugs that bring him down.'

'So why does he take them?' Ruki asked lowly, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

'Therapists guilt him into it, what'd you think? He's not exactly hard to manipulate. Bastards,' he added in a cutting tone.

'I can hear you, you know,' Kai said listlessly, and Aoi sighed.

'Tongue your meds tonight, Kai; that's a good boy.'

Ruki didn't know why, but looking at his friends, he began to feel strangely distant from the two of them. There was a weird rushing noise in his ears; a kind of pounding in his veins and throat that made him feel desperate.

There was no reason for it at all, but he just felt so sick of the two of them in that moment.

Getting to his feet, he slipped quietly out of the room and left them to it.

 

The corridor squeaked under his feet. He drifted through it like he was being pulled, as if a great chain had sprung forth from his chest and was now reeling him in inch by inch; it was painful, but it felt right. It was the good kind of pain, like tonguing an ulcer in your mouth or clenching your jaw when you have a toothache; it felt strong and sharp and finely honed as a blade.

He walked past the phones, and he walked past the nurses' station, and his own bedroom door, and the door to the isolation room. He stopped in front of the very last door on the row, and then he knocked, just once, his wrist returning steadily to his side.

'Yes?'

Ruki pushed the door open and closed it behind him. Kyo was sitting on his bed with his knees up and his back to the wall, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers and a notebook in his lap; the look he gave Ruki was one of mild surprise. Because of the way the ceiling sloped above his bed, he was having to rest more on his lower back than on his ass, and it gave him a lean sort of appearance that Ruki liked to look at.

'I thought you'd be drawing.'

'Can I sit down?'

Kyo gestured towards the bed woodenly and Ruki settled himself next to him. He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it off the smouldering end of Kyo's. 'What are you doing?' he asked. Kyo shrugged.

'Writing some things down.'

'“Things”?'

Kyo closed his eyes, tipping his head back slightly as if he was exhausted, 'Sometimes my mind feels too full. It helps to write thoughts down.'

'Like a diary?'

'I suppose,' Kyo said guardedly.

'What were you writing about just now?'

'That's a personal question.'

'Yep,' Ruki agreed simply and Kyo sighed, tapping his fingers lightly on the cover of his notebook.

'Die,' he said finally, 'I'm worried about him.'

'You are?'

Kyo shot Ruki a wary look. 'Of course.'

'But you never...you don't ever talk to him. Or anyone, except...'

'I don't have to talk to somebody to worry about them.' He tossed his notebook down the bed so it lay on his pillow. 'I worried about you before we spoke.'

'You _did_?'

'Shouldn't I have? You were a complete mess.'

Ruki bit his lip, looking down at his hands. 'So why just Shinya, then? Why is he the only one you ever spend time with?'

Kyo gave him an amused sort of look. 'Don't you think you count?'

'Other than me. Is it just because you're roommates?'

'No. He and I have things in common.'

'Like what? What's something you have in common with Shinya?'

Kyo took a deep drag on his cigarette. 'I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind,' he said simply.

 

It was weird, the way Ruki felt when he said that. The look on Kyo's face had changed in some strange way, as if he'd come back from the world of the dead with his hair turned white; there was something like a shadow on his face, or in his eyes. It sent a shiver up Ruki's spine, and it made him want to take hold of the hand that Kyo had curled loosely in his lap, but he didn't. Kyo simply seemed too far away to be touched.

'And me?' Ruki said eventually, trying to make his voice sound normal, and the shadow cleared itself.

'You.'

'Why do you hang around with me?'

Kyo paused. 'There are things about you that I like.'

'Written anything about me in your book?' Ruki asked, a smile tugging at his lips, and Kyo rolled his eyes.

'Yes.'

'Will you tell me what it was?'

'Not on your life.'

'Will you tell me what you like about me?'

'No.'

'Will you tell me – _three_ things that you like about me?'

Kyo gave Ruki a look so withering that the younger man grinned. ' _Two_ things?'

'Absolutely not.'

'One thing?'

'Is that what you came here for? Compliments?'

'No.' Ruki shrugged loosely, 'I don't know why I came. Am I disturbing you?'

'Yes, but not in a bad way.' He cast a slightly bitter smile at his closed notebook, 'I've had twelve years of my own thoughts. I'm probably due a break.'

Ruki wriggled, settling himself further into the bed. It was strange, but now that he was here, his body seemed suddenly free of the terrible itch that had seemed to lurk underneath his skin whilst he'd been lying in the music room. He wondered when talking to Kyo had become something that felt easy, instead of strange.

Carefully, he rested his head on the other man's shoulder. 'Carry on writing,' he mumbled, 'I won't read it, I promise.'

Kyo tensed, of course. But it was better than nothing.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Seamlessly, September slid by and blended itself into October, and stuck on the ward, the men stagnated. Outside the weather grew colder and danker, mistier, and often when Ruki woke up in the morning there was condensation beading on the windows. When he did things, it was with the sense of having done exactly the same thing many times before: going to group therapy and listening to the same old discussions, rehashed and rehashed over; seeing Dr Sato and being as evasive as he had to be to avoid mentioning either Eiji or his brother; being given Valium and sometimes taking it, sometimes not, and the cache of pills in the wall growing ever richer; watching TV in the evenings, the same old staticky movies. The sanatorium only had a black and white television, so even the technicolour films took place in a monochrome world. Aoi sat about three feet away from the screen during _Now, Voyager_ , chain-smoking and laughing derisively when the characters mentioned therapy; _Brief Encounter_ was subtitled but the accents of the characters were an attraction, and Aoi and Die spent weeks quoting it to each other – Aoi coming back from the bathroom and Die dead-panning, 'thank you for coming back to me'; Aoi peering very suddenly into the faces of the nurses and orderlies and quoting in a leathery voice, 'whatever your dream was, it wasn't a very happy one, was it?'

It was an uncomfortable film for Ruki because of the scene with the woman contemplating suicide, standing on the edge of a platform. He wondered why he'd never thought of jumping in front of a train. He must have passed a dozen subway stations on his long, long walk back from Eiji's house. Whilst the character was soliloquising about her choice, he pretended to be absorbed in lighting himself a new cigarette, feeling weirdly embarrassed; next to him on the sofa, Kai sat up very straight and stared so hard at the screen he hardly seemed to blink.

Everything just seemed to be happening over and over again.

Ruki sat on armchairs and sofas and floors and beds and looked out of windows and watched the leaves change colour, green to yellow to red to brown, and then start to fall. Die's hair colour faded from red to brown, too, and when it fell a certain way, Ruki could see an irregularly-shaped bald patch behind his left ear.

 

Even though they couldn't go outside any more, Ruki and Kyo kept spending their days together. It was as if they had fallen into a habit that they couldn't get out of, and their conversations on Kyo's bed or on the floor of the music room or stretched out at opposite ends of the sofa in the TV room were just the same as they had been out in the hills; Ruki mostly talked, Kyo mostly listened. He talked about Eiji more, and let himself become gradually more honest as the days and weeks wore by until it felt like it was pouring out of him and he wasn't able to stop it: how the sex had been, how he'd felt around Eiji's entourage; how one time he'd been left ringing Eiji's buzzer for over an hour in the February wind because Eiji was working on a piece – how the sex that time had felt so uncomfortably hot against his frozen body, making his skin tingle like he had pins and needles.

He told him about Hiroshi and how it had felt to watch him wither down to nothing in an adjustable bed with railings that could be raised and lowered, and how it had been when his brother had finally lost control of his facial muscles and hadn't been able to talk any more, and about how the last thing Ruki had ever said to him was that he had to be going or he was going to miss the bus he took to to school.

He told him all about how he'd decided to kill himself in the end because he felt so completely bone-tired of debating it back and forth in his mind; how it almost hadn't been the sadness at all, but the exhaustion.

It felt weird, like he was taking off some unusually burdensome item of clothing; like dropping a thick winter coat in summer. Kyo rarely commented on what Ruki said but he didn't seem to be judging him, either; it was more like he simply absorbed every new word that came his way, nodding occasionally as if to confirm that whatever Ruki had told him had been successfully added to the archives in his mind.

It was a relief to be able to just talk like that, without having to answer any questions or explain himself. It was nice to be so easily understood.

 

'You never tell me about yourself.'

It was a flat, grey sort of day in mid October, and Ruki was lying on his stomach in the bedroom Kyo and Shinya shared, a large sheet of paper and some paints spread out in front of him. Instead of the maps he was making a huge psychedelic poster for Kai's birthday, which was in a few days; Aoi had plans for some kind of party, though Ruki couldn't imagine what a party could possibly entail beneath the sanatorium roof. It featured a surreally swirling night sky littered with great stars like chunks of sugary crystal, a portrait of Kai bobbing among them like a Buddha, and the legend said _Kai in the sky with diamonds_. He generally found portraits boring, but the sky was fun to do.

'I suppose I don't,' Kyo said, flicking the pages of his notebook absently. A cigarette was propped between his lips.

'Why not?' Ruki asked, leaning in to get the reflection right in Kai's eyes, and from the periphery of his vision he saw Kyo shrug.

'It hasn't come up.'

'Well, it's coming up now.'

'What do you want to know?'

'Can't you just tell me, rather than having me interview you? You only say vague things anyway.'

Kyo sighed, tapping his pen against his new blank page. 'It's too difficult to tell,' he said. 'All the details are wrapped up in each other. It's like a big knot. You try to pull one thread but the whole thing just tightens.'

Ruki sighed pointedly. 'Are you rich, like everybody else here?'

Kyo snorted. 'No, I'm not rich.'

'So how come you're here?'

'I'm a state patient.'

'I thought the state patients were more in-and-out.'

'Correct. Special circumstances for me,' Kyo said, his tone so precise that Ruki couldn't quite figure out whether he was being sarcastic or not. He looked at him uncertainly, and Kyo gave him the merest flicker of a smile. 'Clever lawyer. Sleazy.'

Ruki sat up on his knees, stretching out his back. 'What'd you need a lawyer for?' he asked. He tried to keep his tone casual, but he was looking at Kyo right in the eyes, and the other man was looking back at him. His fingers flicked at the filter of his cigarette repetitively. He blinked some hair out of his eyes.

The truth hit Ruki like something physical; it was raw and powerful and so strong it sent a thrill of dread up his spine: this was it. Kyo was going to tell him.

'You really want to know,' Kyo said, not bothering to add a question mark. Ruki gave a single, solemn nod, careful not to break the eye contact between them. Kyo sighed, though, and looked away, over at the window. It was a white, flat sort of day, and a burdensome mist was pressed up against the windows; the surrounding hills were no more than hulking shadows, and there wasn't really much to look at. He shook another cigarette out of his pack and held it to the tip of his old one to light it.

'I really want to know,' Ruki prompted warily. He became conscious of a sort of rhythmic flicker in Kyo's face; he was biting at the inside of his own cheek.

'All right,' the older man said at last, barely moving his lips. 'But listen: thank you for being around me these past few months. It's been better with you.'

'I'm not going to stop hanging around with you,' Ruki said cautiously. Kyo just smiled; a strange smile that looked horribly unhappy, like a mask.

'I killed my parents,' he said gently.

 

There was something loud, like a clock ticking, in Ruki's head. It levelled into the dull rush of his own manic blood in his ears, thrashing through veins that felt too tight and narrow, forcing his pulse up to the surface of his skin so it felt like his whole body was vibrating.

Kyo's eyes seemed to be glued to the window, and his shoulders could have been carved out of stone.

'I don't want to make a bunch of fucking excuses,' he said quietly. 'They weren't good people. They hurt us; my sister and me.' He paused. He stubbed his cigarette out mostly unsmoked, his hands trembling. 'My sister, she was younger than me. I tried so hard to protect her, but I couldn't. They hit her...something cracked. Her skull, I think. Blood came out of her ears.'

He stopped again, and looked down at his lap. 'She was confused,' he said finally. 'She went pale. Her skin was cold. She died. I lost my mind,' he finished simply.

Ruki couldn't stop watching him. His face felt entirely numb and stiff, like his skin had turned to plaster.

'What was her name?' he said at last, using a stranger's voice.

'She didn't have a name. They didn't give either of us names. I chose mine myself. Afterwards.'

'You chose Kyo?'

Kyo sighed. 'I couldn't come from them,' he said tonelessly. 'I had to come from somewhere.'

Painfully, he pulled his gaze away from the window and turned to look at Ruki. His face was tense, a collection of angles clashing; his eyes were terribly raw looking, powerful in their misery. 'I tried to regret it,' he said hoarsely, almost inaudible but perfectly clear. 'But I can't. Regret doesn't mean anything when you don't have a choice. Nobody's going to forgive me.' He shook his head. 'I don't remember doing it. I don't know how I did it. I was...I had my episode. Everything was happening like a dream. By the time I came out of it, they were already dead.'

He blinked, and the focus of his eyes seemed to change, like the clicking along of film within a camera. He was not just looking at Ruki now; he was seeing him, too. Ruki realised that he hadn't been doing so before.

'It's all right to leave,' Kyo said, and unsteadily Ruki got to his feet. 'I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody else,' he continued, still in that strange, very quiet and husky voice. 'Nobody is supposed to know.'

'Why not?' Ruki asked, his tongue feeling unfamiliar in his mouth.

'It'd interrupt the therapeutic community. I'm supposed to integrate. Nobody's supposed to be afraid of me.'

Ruki was quiet for a long time. He made a tentative movement towards the door but stopped, his limbs feeling leaden.

'What does it feel like?' he asked quietly. Cautiously, he glanced at Kyo; he felt their eyes clash and looked away.

'It's been my whole life. I don't know any different.' Kyo was still looking at him: Ruki could feel it. 'You really want to know?' he asked finally, and Ruki nodded stiffly.

There was a small silence whilst Kyo chose his words, and then: 'I was born dead,' he said simply. 'That's what it feels like.' He caught the look on Ruki's face and shook his head wearily. 'You asked,' he said. 'You wanted to know. So I told you.'

The two of them waited, Kyo looking at Ruki and Ruki looking at the floor. At last, Kyo turned back towards the window. 'You can go if you want,' he said, and after a second of hesitation, Ruki did.

 

His legs felt curiously boneless as he walked down the familiar corridor. He didn't know where he was going, so he steered himself limply into one of the phone booths without making eye contact with the nurse at the station and listlessly stuck his finger in the rotary dial, pulling it slowly into place and letting it click back patiently. There were tears in his eyes so thick that he could hardly see what he was doing, but it was all right; he knew the feeling of dialling the number by heart.

There was a pause while the nurse connected him, and a fat tear slid down his cheek, clearing his vision momentarily before it obscured again. Finally he heard a muffled click in his ear, and the phone began ringing. He didn't count rings this time. He rocked forward in his seat and rested his forehead in his palm.

'Yes?'

'Hi,' Ruki whispered. He heard a pause on the other end of the phone.

'Who is it, please?'

'It's...me. It's Ruki.'

'Ruki.' There was another long pause. 'Do you really think you should be calling?'

'No.' Ruki swallowed hard, attempting a smile that turned out more like a grimace, 'It's okay. I promise I don't want anything, Eiji. I just...I just needed to hear a familiar voice.'

From miles away, he heard the click of Eiji's lighter and a gust of exhaled breath.

'Okay,' the older man said finally. 'Well, it's really good to hear from you.'

'Is it?'

'Sure. I was thinking about you recently. I actually wondered if you wanted to get together at some point. Maybe come by the studio, see what I've been working on.'

Ruki rubbed his forehead. 'What?'

'No, really. Just casual, you know. I can get some wine, we can reminisce...you haven't seen the place since I did the renovations, have you? I live there now, on the top floor. I can give you a tour. Show you the bedroom.'

'You want to fuck me again.'

'Ruki—'

'I don't want to talk about that,' Ruki said, his voice sounding strained in his own ears. 'Just...talk about something else,' he managed to say. 'Please. Tell me about your exhibition.'

There was an angry sort of sigh. 'Pretty funny, kid.'

'What?'

'Don't play dumb. I never figured you would be the petty type.'

'Eiji, I really don't know what you mean. I'm honestly asking. I...' Ruki hesitated, 'I've been in a mental asylum since April. I don't know what's going on.'

There was a long silence. Ruki's eyes filled with tears and cleared, filled and cleared. He tasted salt.

'A mental asylum.'

He swallowed. 'Yeah. It's called Yamauchi Hostel. I'm in Kyoto.'

'Kyoto. _Why_? You're not mad. Are you?'

'I don't know.' Ruki blotted his eyes with the back of his hand. 'Tell me about your exhibition. Please. I...I don't want to talk.' He heard his voice crack and waver pathetically on the last syllable, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to take deep breaths.

'The exhibition is... _great_. Really. I mean, I don't think the city is quite _ready_ for it, that's all. I don't know why I bother exhibiting anywhere but Tokyo. Osaka pretends to be forward and new and exciting and artistic, but they're a bunch of close-minded, repressed...' he sighed, and Ruki heard him take a drag from his cigarette. It was such a familiar sound that it made his heart hurt.

'So are you going to put it on in Tokyo instead?' he asked dully, and there was a pause.

'I'm looking into it,' Eiji said in a cagey sort of voice. 'It's a busy season...artistically. In the city. So finding a gallery to support hasn't been as easy as it has been historically, and the reviews from Osaka certainly aren't _helping_ , but...look. Did it really fuck you up when we stopped hanging out, or something? Because you never seemed mad whilst we were screwing around.'

'Thanks,' Ruki said tonelessly. There was a sigh from down the other end of the phone.

'You know what I think?'

'What.'

'I don't think you're mad. I think you're _bored_. I think you got burned out because your work wasn't going how you wanted it to and you weren't making anything of value, and you got bored of it all. And I think actually, you were bored for a pretty long time, and that's why you were...well, you know, you were pretty clingy at the end. Do you feel like you were maybe looking for another outlet? Because honestly, kid...we should get you back on your feet. Collaborate on some projects – I'm sure I can help steer your work in a bit more of a polished, thoughtful direction – and yeah, all right, maybe sleep together again. _Casually_. Just...it was always an artistic expression with us, wasn't it? All these thoughts flying around, all this creativity...fucking was the natural conclusion. That's what happens when creative people get excited; when there's _energy_ like that in the air—'

Ruki took the phone away from his ear and looked at it for a moment. Then he hung up.

 

He didn't really remember getting there, but he found himself back in his bedroom, lying on his side on his bed. The sky was beginning to get gloomier; evening was coming. He watched it lower, inch by inch, out of the window.

'You look sad,' Kai said, sitting cross-legged on the bed opposite him.

'Sorry.'

'You should wash the paint off your hands before dinner.'

'Yeah.'

Kai's radio was playing _She Said She Said_ and he was nodding along in a focussed sort of way. He blinked up at Ruki, though, and carefully set his radio to one side before unfolding his legs and getting to his feet. He sat down on the edge of Ruki's bed and, like it was nothing, curled up next to him. There was a space of perhaps two inches between their foreheads, and Kai stared hard into Ruki's eyes before reaching out to carefully pat his hair.

'Don't be sad,' he said.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Ruki wasn't sure if there'd been a time in his life where he'd ever felt so miserable.

It was a different kind of sadness to how he'd felt back in Osaka; back then, it had sort of felt as though he was half-asleep all the time, and that everything was sucking far too much energy out of him. He almost wasn't sure if he had even _felt_ sad; just sort of constantly cold, and tired, and lonely. He had felt as though part of him was already dead, and the rest of him just had to catch up.

Now, it was a different matter. He was keenly aware of how alive he was, how alive and how _stuck_ , his heart beating and his lungs working pointlessly day after day, pumping out more carbon dioxide to poison the heavy air of the sanatorium. It seemed stupid that his hair should still be growing and that he still had to cut his fingernails, and that the calendar was rolling through the days until his next birthday. He felt so alive that he was lonely, because the rest of the world felt dead.

He hadn't spoken to Kyo since that afternoon in his room; he'd found his painting supplies left in a neat pile next to his bedroom door, and that was the extent of their interaction. For his part, Kyo seemed to have taken the hint. He was doing as much as he could to stay out of Ruki's way, and the result was that the only ever saw each other in group therapy and at mealtimes. Ruki never came across him in the TV room or the music room, and he figured Kyo must be spending all of his free time in his own cramped, claustrophobic bedroom.

It made him feel uncomfortable, like there was something broken inside of him and the sharp pieces were sticking into him, but he didn't know what to do about it.

The thing was that he missed him. He missed the weird calm that came over him when they were quiet together, and the nervous excitement he felt when they spoke or touched; he missed the wry twist Kyo's lips would do when he found something funny, and the huge way he yawned, like a cat. Most of all, he missed having Kyo's deep brown gaze on him, and the way he seemed to be able to look at things more intensely than most people, as if he was seeing more than everybody else; Ruki missed being the sole focus of that still, solemn, somehow comfortable stare. It hurt to think of how that stare had changed over the months they'd known each other; how lately, when Ruki thought about it, it had felt warmer.

He missed it all.

 

Kai's birthday was October 28, and Aoi seemed to have entered some kind of frenzy. Ruki wasn't sure which nurse he had sweet-talked to get the balloons, but he spent almost the whole morning blowing them up and tying them, balancing on the arms of chairs and on windowsills, his skinny white feet bare, whilst he looped their strings around light fittings and beams and curtain rails; even the bars on the windows didn't escape his feverish attention. He worked until the TV room felt to Ruki like it was full of grossly inflated nodding heads, their multicoloured cheeks squeaking by one another faintly. Outside the day was damp and gusty; the wind made a mournful sort of sound around the building and every few moments it threw another handful of loose raindrops at the windows.

Poised precariously on the windowsill, one pale foot supported by Die's cupped hands, Aoi shot Ruki an appraising glance.

'You look like shit,' he said matter-of-factly.

'You have fucked up feet,' Ruki mumbled in retaliation.

'I have great feet. Die, aren't my feet great?'

'They're fucking _heavy_ ,' the redhead said between gritted teeth, and Aoi rolled his eyes.

' _None_ of me is heavy. _You_ are just shitty and weak because you never eat. And Ruki, you do look like shit, seriously. What's up with you?'

'Nothing's up with me. I just...I haven't been sleeping that well recently.'

'Trouble in paradise?' Die asked sagely, his arms taut with the effort of keeping Aoi aloft, and Ruki sighed.

'It's nothing.'

'Come on,' Aoi scoffed, 'You and Kyo are acting like you're allergic to each other. I should know; my parents pulled that shit for _years_. From the time I was thirteen until I left home, they were never even in the same room together.' He shrugged, tying his last balloon and hopping deftly to the floor. 'What's happened with you two, anyway?'

'Nothing's happened.'

'Bullshit. You two were following each other around like a little lost puppy. _Cuddling_ in the music room. And, uh, _I_ don't know, remember when we all got in _deep shit_ playing music for him when he was in the isolation room?'

Aoi leant back against the wall, his expression somehow disappointed. 'At least try to cheer up before the party tonight. Take a shower or something,'

'I already showered.'

'Well, you've still got major bedhead, so it looks like it didn't work too well.'

'I didn't want to get my hair wet.'

'Well, get it wet. Seriously. Even _I_ don't fancy you right now.'

Tired and unhappy as he was, Ruki still found it in him to blush at that. Glaring at the two of them, he got to his feet, running a self-conscious hand through his hair: it was sticking up a bit. _Had_ he showered that morning? He couldn't honestly remember. Every day felt the same, and it suddenly felt so completely unreasonable that the world at large could expect him to do all these things over and over, day after day – brush his teeth and wash and eat.

He just wanted to do everything once and be done with it.

 

When he walked in, the bathroom was already full of steam and the sound of water pattering against the tiled floor. Ruki clutched his towel uncertainly, unsure whether it was good manners to call a greeting or not, and whilst he was dithering the water clattered to a stop. He stepped back instinctively, his shoulder blades knocking against the bathroom wall, and he felt his heart seem to falter in his chest as the shower cubicle door opened: there was a great billow of steam and in the middle of it was Kyo, his skin wet and flushed from the heat of the water, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. As soon as he saw Ruki he compulsively grasped at it, as if it was about to fall; he yanked it tighter and gave a slight nod, his eyes fixing themselves firmly on the floor.

Miserably, Ruki clutched his own towel to his waist in a messy bundle, trying to hide the way Kyo's body made him feel. A deep, hot flush seemed to be going through his skin even whilst inside he still felt sick and sad: was that even possible? He could feel his dick stirring between his thighs but it didn't make him feel turned on: it just made him feel tired.

Walking quickly, keeping his head down, he went into one of the empty cubicles and locked the door firmly behind him. He leant against it and closed his eyes for a long moment before starting to take his clothes off: he knew Kyo was still out there. He could hear footsteps pacing back and forth; he heard the sound of a tap running pointlessly into one of the sinks; he heard something like a fist hitting a wall and gave his own hair a harsh tug, bringing tears to his eyes. He bit down on his lower lip hard.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he dropped his T-shirt onto the floor and stepped out of his pants and underwear. His cock was half hard and he rubbed his hand over it, his other hand clenching itself into a fist so tight he could feel his fingernails biting into his palm.

Kyo's body. He couldn't help it: his first thought upon seeing him hadn't been what Kyo had told him and the lonely new distance between them; it had been the towel around his waist. Wanting him to take it off; wanting to see what was underneath it. Ruki made a soft sound in the back of his throat, his arm starting to move faster as he stroked his dick harder; he could hear the sound of his hand moving over himself, a skin-on-skin sound, and blindly he reached out for the tap connected to the shower, turning the water on full blast to try and drown out the noise. Lukewarm spray splashed over his thighs and he lowered himself to the floor, sitting up with his legs loosely bent and spread, his breath coming harder: the image of Kyo seemed to be seared on the backs of his eyelids; the water dripping down that lithe, chiselled body, the lines and angles of him like something drawn with a pencil, the way his hair stuck damply to the back of his neck. Collarbones; the defined little muscles in his abdomen; the hollow of his throat and the sharp line of his jaw above it; his shoulders, his arms, hands, lips, eyes. He wondered how it would be if Kyo was touching him; he wondered what it was like when Kyo touched himself. Did he do it in the shower, or in all those lonely hours spent alone in his room? Did he feel like he was losing control of himself the way Ruki did; did he think about men, did he ever think about Ruki the way Ruki thought about him? He wanted to know how Kyo would look grasping his own cock; how he would look licking and sucking Ruki's cock; he wanted to know how Kyo would feel fucking and fingering him – Ruki stifled a little whimper, his hand fisting the head of his dick desperately and his hips jerking up against his palm. His free hand reached out of its own accord and slammed against the cubicle wall as he came, his hips bucking desperately and his cum spurting all over his own hand and the shower floor, where it mixed with the water and washed away. Panting, he watched it.

He felt more exhausted than ever, and he dragged himself under the spray to wash.

 

' _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..._ '

Looking around, Ruki had to admit that Aoi had done a good – albeit slightly weird – job. Dinner had passed uneventfully, with almost no mention of the party, but now here they all were in the TV room with the lights turned out, sat around in a circle on the floor, their faces looking young and flushed in the flickering light from the candles on Kai's cake. The record player had been dragged in and the birthday boy had been forcefully steered into the room by Aoi, his hands placed precisely over Kai's eyes as he marched him along.

' _Happy_ birth _day dear Kai..._ '

Smiling shyly, Die's face looked even gaunter than normal in the candlelight; it was hard to look at. Up close, Ruki thought, the two of them looked just as tired as each other, and Die kept running a self-conscious hand through his hair.

' _Happy birthday to you!_ '

They applauded, the sound pathetically small with so few of them, and Kai made to blow out the candles but Aoi flung out an arm, catching him in the chest.

'Wait,' he said bossily, 'You have to make a wish first.'

Hugging his knees to his chest, Kai smiled shyly: 'I don't know what to wish for.'

'Are you kidding? Wish that you get the _fuck_ out of here.'

'Wish that the food gets better.'

'Wish for them to start letting us sleep later than half past _fucking_ seven.'

'Wish for The Beatles to get back together,' Die said, clicking his fingers excitedly, and Kai frowned. It was a look so foreign on his face that it made Ruki blink; Kai almost didn't look like himself any more.

'What?' he said.

Instantly, the smile slipped from Die's face, and he cast a worried sort of look at Aoi. Quietly, Kai got to his feet and flicked the lights on, resuming his place in their circle with a confused look on his face.

'The Beatles aren't together any more?' he asked softly, and Aoi sent Die a furious look.

'They're not,' Uruha said, filling the silence, 'Sorry, Kai. They broke up back in April, I think.'

'They'll get back together,' Die said quickly, 'Wish for something else, Kai. Wish for, I dunno...wish for their next record to be a really good one, or something.'

'But there won't be another record,' Kai said, still sounding bewildered. Slowly, he moved his glance between every member of the group sat around him, trying to read the truth from their faces.

'There will,' Aoi said soothingly, making a violent gesture at Die behind his back, 'I promise. It's not like they're dead.'

'No,' Kai mumbled, the strange look still on his face, 'No, I guess not.' He shook his head as if trying to clear it, 'But mum and dad were going to take me to see them live. We have tickets. I mean, we _have_ the tickets already. There's...it's a matinee...at the Budokan.' He glanced wildly around the group again, as if expecting any of them to deny it, 'We're going to take the car on the ferry, and we're going to drive up to Tokyo early, to have a proper visit, and...'

Reflexively, Ruki's hands curled into fists; something about Kai seemed to be unravelling. The skin around his eyes was getting very red, and he was gesticulating with shaking hands as he spoke, but the worst part was how unsure he sounded about what he was saying; when he looked around at them all again, he appeared almost scared.

'Kai,' Die said desperately, 'It's okay. They'll do the show.'

'It's raining on the way there,' Kai said suddenly, forcefully, 'It's really raining hard. It's really – it's really raining _hard_.'

He swallowed hard, pressing his hands over his ears briefly. 'I'm sorry,' he said in a strained voice, 'I feel – really confused. We'll get the ferry over to the mainland, and...the car can go on the boat.'

'It's a joke,' Aoi suddenly burst desperately, 'Just a stupid joke. Die's just joking. The Beatles are definitely still together. They'd never break up! Die's just being an idiot. You're such a _loser_ , Die,' he added, glaring at his friend; the redhead hastily plastered on a smile.

'Yeah, sorry. I was just kidding. It was a stupid joke.'

'Me too,' Uruha said suddenly, 'Only joking.'

There was a very tense silence. Kai's eyes jumped from Die to Aoi to Uruha as he chewed on a knuckle uncertainly, and Ruki watched the expression on his face waver. He was making a choice, Ruki realised: he knew the truth as well as they all did, but he was choosing to believe them; to believe the lie. _Forcing_ himself to believe them. Slowly, a smile perked his lips back up again.

'That was such a stupid joke,' he said, his voice just a little weaker than normal, 'I'm going to wish that their next album comes out _tomorrow_.'

Taking a great lungful of air, he blew all the candles out in one go.

 

The scary moment dispelled, the party finally became more relaxed; Aoi turned on the record player and a nurse moved forward with the bluntest knife Ruki had ever seen in his life to cut the cake and pass it around. It was covered in white icing and sandwiched together with strawberry jam, but Ruki only managed one mouthful; it felt like he was eating cardboard or rubber or something manufactured and inedible; plastic, plaster, wallpaper paste. He swallowed with great difficulty and put his plate down, counting himself bitterly in good company with Die, who wasn't eating anything either despite Aoi's frequent jabs and gestures. The other man was getting so animated he seemed in danger of doing himself an injury, and finally, a miserable expression on his face, Die took a forkful of cake. He chewed it for a long time, a helpless sort of look in his eyes, and as soon as Aoi's attention was diverted he leapt nimbly to his feet and darted away into the bathroom.

Kyo wasn't there, of course. Ruki hadn't entertained much hope that he would be; he didn't even think he wanted to see him. His stomach turned shamefully at the memory: the way Kyo had looked at him, and then looked at the floor. The resigned, almost satisfied look on his face, as if Ruki had acted exactly as he'd expected – exactly as he'd deserved.

Next to him, Uruha was dissecting his cake into perfect cubes, his face a perfect mask of concentration. Ruki watched listlessly as he arranged them into a little regiment, each cube a neat centimetre apart and every loose crumb swept painstakingly into a tidy pile which Uruha periodically pinched together with his fingers and deposited back onto the cake plate. One of the balloons popped unexpectedly, making them all jump. Die returned from the bathroom, and Aoi gave him a look of such deep hurt that Ruki felt it inside his bones.

That was the feeling that stuck to him: the sickness within them and without them, all around them, invading the air they breathed in like a foul miasma. What was the point of having a party when Shinya was rubbing at his forehead and looking worried, when Uruha was fumbling with fallen crumbs of cake; when Die looked like a skeleton dipped in pale wax and Kai's face kept lapsing back into dreadful uncertainty and Ruki himself felt like he wanted to go to sleep for about a hundred years?

And yet still they kept on; they ate cake, they made jokes. Die put on a new single his father had sent him from a business trip to Atlanta, Georgia – a place where it was so hot, the accompanying letter had explained, even the earth looked red – called _Bad Girl_ by somebody Ruki hadn't heard of called Lee Moses; it was rough and gravelly and when Aoi and Die danced to it, they _really_ danced. Their bodies seemed to be all over the room at once, and whilst Aoi had his eyes closed and a strange smile on his lips, Ruki wondered if he was the only one who had caught the look of total and utter panic in Die's eyes.

 _I'm so fucked_.

It was all over him, a signal he was broadcasting loud and clear, and Ruki realised that he wasn't the only one who could hear it – _everybody_ could. It was just that they'd been hearing it all along. They were used to it.

 

All in all, it wasn't much of a party. Aoi danced until he was sweating, occasionally dragging Kai or Uruha or Ruki up to join him, but he didn't seem to be getting much enjoyment out of anything; when ten o'clock rolled around and the nurse on duty started pointedly taking away the cake plates and casting little looks at the record player, he flopped down on the floor looking exhausted. His chest rose and fell deeply as he caught his breath, and when he caught Kai's eye he gave him a small smile.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I shouldn't have tried to throw a birthday party in a shitty place like this.'

Kai shook his head. 'That's not true,' he said, 'It was a really nice party. And...' he hesitated, biting his lip as the nurse turned off the record player and began rolling up its long power cord, 'Thank you. I'm really glad we did this. All of us together. Kyo too, even though he's...' he gestured lamely down the corridor and smiled sweetly around at them all. 'I'm really glad that we're all friends,' he said finally.

There was a small silence after that, but a better one; Uruha placed a careful hand around Kai's elbow, and Die let his head flop onto Kai's shoulder, and Aoi stretched out a leg and gave Kai's ankle a soft kick. Feeling weird, like it was somehow important, Ruki reached out and placed his hand on Kai's back.

Sadly, somehow, they smiled at each other, and Kai gave his head a soft shake.

'Ruki,' he said, 'Do you mind if I keep my radio on tonight? I'll keep it quiet and under the covers.'

'Sure. It's your birthday, Kai; you can do anything you want.'

'Thanks. I just really want to listen to some music tonight.' With that, he got stiffly to his feet. 'Good night,' he said to the room at large. 'I'm going to bed now. I'm so tired. It's amazing how tired I am.'

He left a quiet room in his wake, interrupted only by the sound of the duty nurse straining to lift up the record player until, clucking his tongue softly, Aoi got to his feet to help her.

 


	25. Chapter 25

He was being chased by something; he couldn't see what it was. His legs ran painfully slowly, as if he was wading through thick mud; he ran through his old school auditorium, which was somehow also his house as well, and opened a door into the sanatorium, where the lights glared off the white corridors and winced like a migraine. He passed Kyo's door and realised that he was still in his room, and that he hadn't been warned that whatever chased him was coming; he turned on his heel, wheeling around to bang on the door with his fist—

_'All the leaves are brown...and the sky is grey...'_

Ruki's eyes fluttered open, one small curled fist coming up to rub at them. He was in bed and the room was dim; the sun wasn't all the way up yet. Across the room, Kai was a completely motionless lump in his bed, the sheets pulled all the way up over his head, and it was the tinny sound of his radio that had woken Ruki up: The Mamas and the Papas singing _California Dreamin_ '.

 _'I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.,'_ they sang cheerfully as Ruki clumsily pushed back the covers and sat up, yawning so widely his jaw clicked; he hadn't slept much, or very well. Kai had seemed to be having a difficult sort of night, rolling around frequently and making little groaning noises in his sleep; normally, he was silent as the grave.

Shivering slightly in the morning chill, Ruki got to his feet and padded over to his friend's bed. He had a weird feeling in his skin; the kind of anxious, edgy, almost itchy feeling he got whilst he was waiting for a summer thunderstorm to come along and break up the humidity in the air. Gingerly he reached out and gave what he guessed was Kai's shoulder a light prod.

' _California dreamin' on such a winter's day..._ '

Kai didn't respond, and so carefully Ruki peeled back the sheet. It was a tricky job; it was tangled around Kai's head, but Ruki worked it loose, smoothing it gently around his shoulders.

His hands stilled.

There was something wrong with him.

 

Ruki froze for just a split-second before stumbling hurriedly backwards and hitting the switch on the wall; the room flared with yellow light, the outside seemed to darken in the square pane of the window, and Kai's skin was the wrong colour. His hands and the area around his mouth were blue, and his exposed arms and face were mottled a sick grey-purple; there was a smell of urine and when Ruki slipped the radio from Kai's hands, he found the skin there cool and artificial feeling.

A great, hideous scream got caught somewhere in his throat, creating a lump that he couldn't swallow past. Some kind of dried foam was caked around Kai's mouth and when Ruki tremblingly thumbed open one of his eyelids, the pupil stayed fat despite the light on overhead. Last of all Ruki's fumbling hand found his throat, confirming what he already knew: there was no pulse, and Kai was dead whilst his little radio still played on, wheezing out music with a static hiss collected over hundreds of miles of airwaves.

Very carefully, Ruki got to his hands and knees and felt his way over to the skirting board. He found the screw that twisted out but botched the job, his hands shaking so badly he could barely grip; at long last he got the screw out and the panel of wood fell flat onto the floor.

Totally empty. Ruki worked his hand into the hole and felt into all the dusty, crumbling corners, but there wasn't a single pill left; it was just an empty dark hole now, like every other empty dark place in the world.

Finally, the yell caught in Ruki's throat worked itself loose, and he squeezed his eyes shut as doors started to slam open all over the ward.

 

The morning floated by in a kind of nightmarish haze. When the nurses came, they covered Kai's face up again, and they wrapped Ruki up in a grey blanket as though he was the one who had died. He was grateful, dimly; he couldn't seem to stop shivering, his teeth clicking together.

Faces floated past him like the moons of foreign planets: Uruha's pale and shocked, his eyes terribly wide and his fist hitting at the side of his head; Die's sagging emptily with tear tracks glistening on his pale cheeks, his shoulders seeming to bow under the weight of the truth; Aoi's mouth working soundlessly as he cried, his hands fisting in his own hair. Die reached out for him and Ruki watched numbly as he folded Aoi carefully into his arms, his chin resting on the top of Aoi's messy dark head.

Uruha's eyes were red; Shinya had both hands crossed over his mouth and his gaze fixed to the floor. Kyo was...

Ruki's eyes found him blearily. He was standing there just in a T-shirt and his underwear, his hair tousled from sleep, and when he caught Ruki's stare he held it. Warily he stepped closer, and when Ruki didn't object he put a careful hand on his arm, keeping their eyes firmly locked so that Ruki could read the question in them: _is this okay?_

He could feel the strange tension in Kyo's body and his breathing. He made a halting gesture forwards and slowly, incredibly, Kyo placed his arms around him. For a second, he held him close, his body warm through the blanket; then, he began walking, and Ruki allowed himself to be led. His legs seemed to be moving on autopilot, and he nearly stumbled, but Kyo seemed to be holding him upright. He was taken gently through a door and sat on a sofa, Kyo's body settling stiffly next to him. Through the windows, he could see the sun rising properly now, a golden glow at the edge of the horizon and the sky washed a delicate pink, purplish clouds floating insubstantially here and there. The surrounding hills looked more blue than black, and the birds were singing.

 

'He took pills,' Ruki said, his voice juddering violently; he swallowed hard to try and control it. 'That's how he did it.' He took a deep breath. 'He hardly ever took his medicine. He kept everything he didn't take in a hole in the wall, and I...I never thought it was a problem. I never thought he'd want to—'

'Nobody could have known,' Kyo said quietly.

'But I – slept next to him, and – he must have still been alive when I went to bed, but he didn't make any noise, and I—'

Ruki broke off roughly, shaking his head. 'I know you don't like being touched,' he said dully, 'But I really need to touch you right now.'

'I don't dislike being touched.'

'But you always...'

Kyo's arm encircled him, pulling their bodies carefully together so that Ruki's head was resting on Kyo's chest. His free hand settled on his lap and Ruki grabbed it and linked their fingers together; his cold, Kyo's warm; his small, Kyo's big. He could feel the muffled beating of Kyo's heart, a steady undercurrent to the birdsong; it was soothing. He didn't feel better, but for the first time since he'd seen Kai's body, he thought that he did at least feel calm.

'I've never seen a dead body before,' he said, his voice shaking out of control, 'But you have.'

'Yes.'

'Kai was...'

Ruki shook his head pointlessly. Kai had been fucking gruesome, but he couldn't say that. Why couldn't he have looked peaceful, like he was sleeping; why couldn't he have fooled Ruki for just a moment? 'It didn't look like him,' he said finally. 'I mean, it _was_ him. But I almost couldn't recognise him.' He paused. 'Was it like that with your parents?' he asked, and felt the deep breath Kyo took.

'I didn't see them right away,' he answered finally in his hoarse voice. 'I was inside my head. But when I found them, they didn't look like themselves any more.' He made to remove his arm from around Ruki's shoulder; Ruki gripped it firmly in place, and Kyo hesitated. 'I spent my whole life scared of them,' he said, 'and suddenly they were nothing to be scared of. They couldn't do anything; they couldn't stop themselves from rotting; they couldn't brush the flies away.'

Ruki felt a tear slide down his cheek until it blotted into the fabric of Kyo's T-shirt.

'I never thought about looking like that,' he admitted softly. He gave Kyo's fingers a small squeeze. 'Dying felt nothing like I thought it would.'

'I don't want you to think about that,' Kyo said stolidly.

'What?'

'I don't want you to think about copying him.'

Ruki opened his mouth, but he didn't have anything to say to that. He squeezed Kyo's hand again, and this time, he got a quick, hard squeeze back.

 

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed. Ruki felt a warm pressure on his other side and a third hand joined their tangle of fingers; hair tickled his cheek as Aoi curled up against him. On the other side of Kyo, Die was lowering his skinny frame down tiredly; Shinya was hovering and Die pulled him down next to him. Ruki registered the movement as Uruha settled himself by Aoi and the other man adjusted to accept him, pulling them closer together as a group so they could all fit on the small sofa, and Ruki shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself to focus only on the steady lull of Kyo's heartbeat.

 _Something's missing_.

 _There're too few of us_.

'It's my fault,' Die said hollowly. 'If I hadn't told him about The Beatles...'

Ruki sighed, nestling his cheek more firmly against Kyo's chest. 'It wasn't that,' he said dully. 'That was just an excuse. He wanted to do it.'

'How do you know?' Aoi said, his voice sounding like he had a cold, and Ruki squeezed their conjoined hands awkwardly.

'I just do,' he said. 'He must have known he'd never leave this place. Sometimes...there doesn't have to be a reason. Just the thought of everything being the same, and keeping on going on, forever, without changing. All of the sadness, and the loneliness, and the fear – none of it ever going away.'

'Is that why _you_ did it?' Die asked, and Ruki nodded slowly. Next to him, Aoi made a strangled sound, and he shook harshly against Ruki's body, squeezing his fingers hard.

'It's not fair,' he said in a tight, angry sort of voice.

'Aoi—'

'It's not _fair_. He was – he was special. And somebody should have _done_ something. Something to save him. _Any_ thing.'

'Nobody could have saved him,' Uruha said in a small voice, shifting on the sofa. 'He'd decided. Everyone has to decide whether they want to live or die. He made his choice.'

'Will there be a funeral?' Die asked, and Ruki felt Aoi shrug.

'There's always a funeral. Doubt they'll let _us_ go. They won't want us to see how much they cheap out on the ceremony.'

' _They_ arrange it? The sanatorium?'

'I guess so. He didn't have any family.'

'He didn't?'

Aoi snorted sadly. 'You ever see him get any visitors?'

There was a pause, and then Shinya's low, melodious voice from the other end of the sofa: 'Kai's family was in a wreck.'

'A car wreck?'

Shinya must have nodded or something. Ruki fisted his free hand in a twist of Kyo's T-shirt. It was weird seeing him wearing only underwear on his lower half, but it was weird in an abstract sort of way that Ruki felt too dazed to appreciate; he was grateful for it instead, the skin, the warmth.

'How do _you_ know?' Aoi asked.

'I heard the nurses talking about it a long time ago,' Shinya answered. He paused. 'When you don't speak very much, people start assuming you don't hear either.'

'Got any other secrets?' Aoi asked.

'Some,' Shinya answered mildly.

'They have to let us go to the funeral,' Uruha interrupted. 'It's not right. He was our friend. We have to say—'

His voice broke. 'Goodbye,' Die supplied.

Something like a shiver went through them as a group, and Kyo's arm tightened almost imperceptibly around Ruki's shoulders.

The six of them sat that way for a long time.

 

It was a long, cold, slow sort of day. The sun dragged itself up and then down again in the sky, but there didn't seem to be much point to it. Nobody seemed to want to be on their own. A grey van came for Kai's body, and as the men watched the nurses stripped his bed and started taking his posters down from the walls and emptying the drawers of his clothes. The shelf over his bed was cleared, his few books placed in the small bookcase in the TV room; they went around Ruki and Kai's room with a pinkish liquid that smelled strongly of disinfectant.

Nobody said much. His clothes were sad, limp articles without his body to fill them: those achingly familiar sweaters and jeans and socks that seemed to have Kai's smell caught up in their folds. To Ruki, it was the smell of their shared bedroom, and he wondered how long it would be until it didn't smell like that any more. The books were boys' adventure manga, dog-eared and read to death; the nurses didn't seem to know what to do with his radio. At last, they placed it on top of the piano in the music room, and that was the final thing – the room cleared, just another hospital dorm after all.

Early in the afternoon, the group therapist showed up unscheduled; she attempted to gather them all around into the usual circle, but nobody wanted to move much or say anything, and as Ruki watched her try to coax Die into sharing his feelings he wondered why she bothered: after all, it was plain enough what Die's feelings were. They were written all over his face. Aoi stayed almost silent throughout the entirety of the meeting, giving one-syllable answers to any questions directed towards him; Ruki found himself missing the old Aoi, who would normally sit on the very edge of his chair and make up long, outlandish stories about himself. Quiet as he was, it was like he had died, too.

'Ruki? Ruki?'

 

He snapped out of his daydream, pushing the hair out of his eyes. The doctor was looking at him in a half concerned and half annoyed kind of way, evidently aware that he hadn't been paying attention, and he cleared his throat lamely.

'Pardon,' he said in a weak voice, and he watched her decide not to sigh.

'I was just wondering, Ruki, what you would like to add to our discussion.'

It was weird, the way that question and the way she was looking at him made him feel like he was itching all over. He opened his mouth but the words seemed too horrible to come out, so he swallowed them: how whenever he closed his eyes Kai's bloated face seemed to float up against the back of his eyelids like a puffy grey balloon, and how he wondered where Kai's body was right now; if it was stored in a refrigerated metal locker on a sliding tray; if it would be on the slab already, being sliced into by some scalpel-wielding pathologist or other. How Kai had been so young to die that Ruki wondered if the pathologist would enjoy the look of his pristine organs – the smooth blue heart with so many beats sill left in it; the lungs the perfect shell pink of medical textbook illustrations; the finger-like appendix still intact and innocuous, never having had the chance to get infected and burst. His brain would still be set firm, like a jelly, and his eyes would still be clear, the whites white enough to look blue under the laboratory lights. Perhaps they would already have begin their tender stripping of his valuables, the cutting away of the earthly possessions he couldn't possibly take with him: corneas, kidneys, skirting around the toxic liver, pumped full of drugs. They'd find the pills littered throughout his digestive system like confetti strewn over the floor after the party, the bulk of them a soggy powdery mass clogging up his small intestine.

'Ruki.'

Lab rat.

He jerked back to attention, staring around himself in confusion; he hadn't felt himself getting to his feet, but now he was standing in the corridor like a sleepwalker. He glanced around, dazed, and found Aoi a few paces behind him, his eyebrows slightly raised. 'You okay?' he asked, and Ruki shrugged.

'No.'

'No. Me neither.' He leant himself against the wall and stuck a cigarette in his mouth, and Ruki saw his hands were trembling; he had to chase the tip of his cigarette with his lighter to get it lit. Once he'd managed, he pulled it out from between his lips and offered it to Ruki, taking a fresh one from his packet for himself. Quietly, the two men smoked.

'Want to sleep in our room tonight?' Aoi offered, and Ruki shot him a grateful look.

'If they'll let me.'

'Fuck 'em.'

'Fuck 'em,' Ruki agreed. His cigarette tasted like dead ash. 'I keep wondering where Kai is now. Whether they're cutting him up or what.'

'Animals.' Aoi contorted his face and blew a series of perfect smoke rings. 'Nah, he's not here any more. His spirit's gone somewhere better.'

'You believe in stuff like that?'

Aoi shrugged. 'Times like this I do. You ever seen a ghost?'

'Never. You?'

'We're all fucking ghosts,' Aoi said darkly. 'Kai had the right idea. I don't know what happened, but he realised it. He understood that he was a ghost. That's why he killed himself. He just wanted to be in the right place. Why give them any more years of his life? Fuck 'em. Cut it off at the root. Like amputating a limb. Now he's crossing the floating bridge. I know he is. Into the Plain of High Heaven, where there's no more misery and bullshit, just a non-stop Beatles concert where he's in the front row with nobody pushing, and when he gets excited enough to scream, John Lennon pulls him up on the stage and they all dance together. Doesn't that sound better?' He eyed Ruki shrewdly, 'Better than being sliced and diced by some doctor.'

'He didn't have the right idea,' Ruki said.

'No?'

'No. And you don't think so either. Don't say stuff like that.' Ruki looked at Aoi lucidly, and Aoi had the grace to shrug and look down at the floor. He made a sniffing noise, and swiped a quick hand over his face.

'Sorry,' he said in a small voice. He sniffed again and finally looked up, trying to force a smile over his pale face. It was a poor effort. 'Die snores,' he said lightly, 'Sorry about that. But we can get your mattress and stuff and just put it on the floor between our beds; it'll be easy.'

Ruki didn't answer; stepping forward, he awkwardly folded his arms around Aoi's, pulling the other man close to him. There was a moment's hesitation and then Aoi's cigarette fell forgotten to the floor; he wrapped his arms around Ruki's back and clung to him tightly, nestling his face against Ruki's messy hair. He made a gentle gasping noise, and his shoulders shook heavily as he cried, his breath and tears wetting Ruki's neck. It was an odd thing to hear him cry; to learn small things about him, like the soft gulping noises he made and the sighing sound it made when his breath juddered in his throat, and the way his hands gripped tighter even as his shoulders sagged weakly.

'Somebody should have done something,' he whispered, his voice jagged as something shattered to pieces, 'Somebody should have saved him.'

 


	26. Chapter 26

Nobody ate much at dinner that night. It seemed bizarre to Ruki that they all still drifted to the table when called, and that the meal was still served on time, and that they could all still pick up their chopsticks and start stirring their food around. Three different nurses stood around supervising, but as the six men pushed their food about and took their small, unenthusiastic bites, none of them could ignore the seventh chair's high nervous silence. It sat at the head of the table and seemed to stare them all down as they poked at their food and let it go cold. Die fished the ice cubes out from the water pitcher in the middle of the table and none of the nurses bothered to tell him off as he ate them one by one. He was wearing only a stretched-out T-shirt, and Ruki could see the fine hairs standing up all over his bony arms, and the ice making him start to shiver.

Looking at him, he felt like he understood everything: how the colder Die was, the more calories he burnt; how eating the ice made him feel like he was eating real food, almost, just for a moment. He stared hard at Kai's empty chair and felt his eyes blur, because he'd understood Die, and he'd understood Aoi, and he felt like he understood Shinya and Uruha, and even that he was getting closer to understanding Kyo – but he'd never understood Kai. He'd never even tried; hadn't bothered wondering what lay behind his eternal Mona Lisa smile, enigmatic in his memory even if it hadn't been enigmatic in real life: _he's smiling. But is he happy?_

He'd dismissed him too easily as somebody who didn't need to be worried about, and now he was gone forever. It felt like a betrayal; like an abandonment, or even an insult. Here they were, the six of them, stuck still in the never-ending bad dream of the sanatorium – but Kai had chosen the real world, in the end, hadn't he? A world of mortuary slabs and stiffening joints, blood pooling in extremities, skin shrinking around nail beds. Puffy skin and protruding tongues. The smell of rot. Real even when you didn't want it to be.

 

After the meal, it seemed pointless to mill around until bedtime. For the first time since Ruki had arrived at the sanatorium, both the television and the record player remained switched off all evening; the men drifted about, mainly, more ghostly than ghosts, looming like shadows in each other's open doorways. It wasn't even nine when Ruki went to collect his bedding from the bedroom he'd shared with Kai; he couldn't figure out how, but he was so tired he thought he could die.

The door to his dorm was the only one in the corridor that was closed, and he paused in front of it, his fingers resting lightly on the handle. He felt scared, but he wasn't sure what of: scared there would be some hint, maybe, of what had happened; some sort of lingering odour, the smell of death settled into the wallpaper and linens. He heard footsteps behind him, which stopped a respectful distance away.

'Are you sleeping in there?'

He smelled cigarette smoke. He shook his head. 'I'm going to sleep in Aoi and Die's room tonight. I just need my bedding.'

He turned and Kyo gave him a slight nod. 'Are you going in?'

'Yes, of course,' Ruki said, not moving. He gave a soft, strangely harsh little bark of a laugh, dry and utterly humourless. 'I'm scared to go in.'

'There's nothing to be scared of.'

'No, I know. It's stupid, isn't it?'

'No actually, it's not.' Kyo stepped forward, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the door appraisingly. Ruki gave a grim smile.

'I'm scared of what it'll smell like,' he admitted. 'I don't want it to still have his scent, but I don't want it to be gone, either. And I don't want it to smell like – like it did this morning. I'll go crazy if I have to smell that again.'

'Well, you're in the right place if you do,' Kyo said lightly. Ruki slid him a look.

'How do you stand it,' he said, not bothering to add a question mark. Kyo gave a shrug that was like a flinch.

'What other choice is there,' he replied, not bothering to add a question mark either. They eyed each other, Ruki furtive and Kyo shrewd.

'Do you believe in an afterlife?' he asked next, as if it was most natural progression of their conversation, and Kyo gave an unhelpful shrug.

'You mean a holy place?'

'Just anything. Reincarnation even, or anything like that.'

Kyo hesitated. 'I'd like to be reincarnated.'

'Yeah?'

'I'd like to live life again and do it right all the way through,' he said simply. His eyes met Ruki's soberly. 'What about you?'

'I only want to do this once.'

'Just as long as you serve the full term,' Kyo said, raising an eyebrow.

'I'd like there to be an afterlife.'

'Like a heaven?'

'I suppose that'd be the ideal,' Ruki said a little sarcastically, and the corners of Kyo's mouth twitched upwards slightly.

'So what does heaven mean to you?' he asked. As he spoke, he placed his hand carefully next to Ruki's on the door handle and slowly began to push it down so that the latch clicked. He kept his eyes on Ruki's the whole time, and he watched the flown-apart look of panic cross the younger man's face. He shook his head slightly. 'Don't think about it,' he said in a low voice, 'Answer my question.'

'Heaven – to me...' Ruki trailed off, sounding confused, 'I – I suppose it'd be a place where everybody who ever left comes back, wouldn't it? My brother, and...'

'And Okada?' Kyo supplied quietly, and Ruki shrugged.

'Maybe,' he said weakly. 'Maybe it'd just be a place where you could make time stop if you wanted to. So you could live in any moment for as long as you wanted.'

'Right on the edge of your skin,' Kyo agreed, and Ruki nodded. He kept his eyes fixed on Kyo's as he walked into the room and started to mechanically gather up his blanket and pillow.

'And it'd be a place where you understood everything. I mean, you could have all that knowledge, if you wanted it. You wouldn't have to doubt anything or fear anything, because you'd understand it all, and it'd be peaceful. You'd know why everything bad had ever happened to you; you'd be able to see if it was your fault or not. You could see all the steps you'd ever taken...which ones were right, and which ones were wrong.'

'Interesting heaven.'

'Well, what's yours?'

'I don't have one.'

 

Kyo pulled the mattress off the bed. It was only a thin futon; he folded it easily under his arm and together they left the room, Ruki closing the door carefully behind him so it latched. His arms full of blankets, he did an awkward shrug.

'Thanks for getting the mattress.'

'That's all right.' Kyo paused, seeming to know that Ruki had something more to say, and after a moment's hesitation the younger man let it out.

'Heaven,' he said, 'Would be like a kind of beach at the very end of the world, where all the lost things wash up on the shore. All the objects, all the people, all the love you lost – it'd all be there.' He squeezed the bundle of blankets tighter in his arms. 'I used to go down to the bay in Osaka,' he said, 'Where you can see the big ships coming and going. And I used to imagine that I'd see a boat coming over the horizon, tiny at first, and gradually getting bigger and bigger as it got closer. And when it finally came into port, I'd see a figure on the deck, and I'd realise that it was Hiroshi. He wouldn't be sick any more; he'd be standing up and waving.' He looked down into his pillow. 'Sometimes I'd think about it so hard that I'd realise I was walking further towards the dock, automatically. My legs would be moving quickly, and I'd feel that I had this weird smile on my face. For a little while, I'd been really believing in what I imagined. That's what I think heaven would be like. Everything coming back.'

There was a silence; Kyo shifted the mattress into a more comfortable position under his arm and together they walked down the corridor to Aoi and Die's room.

 

Ruki wasn't altogether surprised that the nurses didn't put up more of a fuss over his sleeping arrangements: he supposed they might have been just as glad as he was to have an excuse to avoid the door Kai had died behind. It was a safe sort of feeling, stretching out on the floor between Aoi and Die's beds, sort of like how he imagined a sleepover might feel when you were a kid, or how sleeping in a pack might feel to an animal. It was a relief to breathe in the smell of cigarette smoke and incense; it left no room for any scent of death. Ruki felt his chest seem to expand slightly.

Before settling down Die sat perched on the edge of his bed, a cigarette propped between his lips as he brushed out his hair. He was being careful with it, but even so Ruki saw the brush grow clogged and matted with red, and he heard Die's gentle sigh as he cleared out the bristles. Sticking his skinny arm out of the window, he fed the clumps of shed hair to the wind.

'Why d'you do that?' Ruki asked, and Die blinked sleepily.

'Birds make their nests with it.'

'Oh. Is it...?'

'Falling out?' Die said shortly, 'Yeah.'

Lying on his own bed, Aoi stretched out a leg over the top of Ruki's head and poked Die in the ribs with a thin, pale foot. 'Will you brush mine?' he asked. Die sighed, but yanked a few more strands of hair out of his brush and allowed Aoi to sit on the bed next to him. As Ruki watched, only feeling mildly confused, Die started separating Aoi's hair into sections and brushing through it. He was just as gentle as he had been with his own hair, but Aoi's was stronger.

'I know it's super gay,' Aoi said with his eyes closed, 'But ever since I was a kid, I've always loved having my hair brushed. It makes me feel all sleepy and quiet.'

'You're never quiet,' Die said absently.

'Says you,' Aoi retorted, giving a loud, fake snore. Die rolled his eyes.

It was weird, watching them bicker. It was like their usual spark had gone out of them – they were just going through the motions; putting on a performance for Ruki's sake, like parents that stop arguing the minute you enter a room. It was a nice sound, though, the brush sort of crackling through Aoi's hair, and after a few strokes the harsh line of his shoulders did seem to soften slightly, and the tension started to leave his face. His eyes closed, and his lips parted very slightly. It made Ruki feel sleepy just watching.

He'd have had to have been blind not to see it, though; the careful way Die's hands moved as they handled Aoi's hair and the look of tenderness on his sad, thin face as he smoothed it out.

Feeling somehow lonely, Ruki slipped under his blanket, curled up and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he felt Aoi carefully step over him as he turned the light out and made his way back to his own bed.

 

With the lights off, it became strangely apparent that nobody was sleeping. The atmosphere in the room was all wrong; Die and Aoi seemed to be taking it in turns to shift about and sigh and fidget, the blankets rustling noisily in the quiet, and the tense energy coming off the three men seemed to fill the room all the way up to the ceiling. It had begun to rain, though not heavily, and Ruki could hear it making soft pecking noises against the window. He thought of a bird padding its nest with Die's thin, weak hair. He wondered if Die's hair would still be there, woven in amongst the twigs, after the birds themselves had abandoned it.

Finally, Aoi sighed loudly into the darkness and turned onto his side, staring out across the room.

'Where d'you think he is now?' he asked quietly. There was a long silence.

'Kyo and I were talking about whether there's a heaven or not,' Ruki said.

'What do you think?'

'I don't know. I don't think so.'

There was the sound of shifting blankets from Die's side of the room, and he spoke up sleepily: 'Why not?'

'I don't know. I just don't see why there would be one.'

'I think there is one,' said Die. 'For good people, like Kai.'

'Yeah?' Aoi said softly from across the room. 'You think I'd get in?'

Die didn't hesitate. 'Yes.'

Aoi snorted. 'How's that going to work?'

' _I_ plan to get in,' Die said decisively.

'Yeah, so?'

'So it wouldn't be heaven for me without you there,' Die said, as if he was talking to an idiot. 'You, and Kai, and – everybody. And none of us would be ill.'

'He always felt like the youngest,' Aoi said. 'It's weird that he's gone before any of us. It feels like he's gotten ahead. Like he's left us all behind.' His voice sounded a little thicker than usual, and Ruki heard him sniff lightly. 'I always worry when people die like that, so young, how will they know you when _you_ die? How will they recognise you when they're still so young and you're so old? They won't believe you when you say you're you. They'll think it's a lie.'

'Kai would believe you,' Die said.

'But he's gone to some place that none of us know anything about, and he's had this experience that none of us have ever had. I'm...' Aoi paused, staring out into the darkness. In the dim light, Ruki could just about make out the shine of his eyes. 'I'm worried he'll feel lonely,' he said at last, in a small voice.

 

Neither of them knew much what to say to that, and the room was quiet for a long time until a gentle tapping on the door interrupted the silence. Aoi frowned, sitting up to turn on the light, but before he could get there the door opened and a shadowy figure stepped into the room, head bowed.

The light flared on, and Ruki blinked rapidly against its sudden brightness. All the men in the room looked suddenly weirdly defined: the redness of Aoi's eyes, the exhaustion on Die's face, the unusually rumpled appearance of Uruha's hair and clothes. He was dressed for bed, and his posture was apologetic. His eyes jumped between the three of them.

'Can I sleep in here,' he said bluntly, his voice very flat, 'I can't – I can't get to sleep in my room.'

'Sure,' Aoi said, but Uruha was looking about miserably.

'I won't fit.'

'You'll fit.'

In the end, it wasn't that difficult. The end table that normally stood between Die and Aoi's beds was shoved unceremoniously to the front of the room, right by the door, and Ruki's bedding was moved out of the way so that Die's bed and Aoi's could be shoved together. Then, Aoi fussily lay out Ruki's mattress and blanket on the slightly dusty patch of floor where his own bed had previously been – 'Unless you want to try and sleep up here with us,' he said with a cracked sort of grin. 'You're only small, after all.'

Smiling tiredly, Ruki shook his head. Whatever weird situation existed between the three of them, he didn't feel like figuring out where he might fit into it; his head ached slightly, and though he didn't want to be alone exactly, he didn't think any of them were the right people to be curled up next to him. He wasn't sure if anybody was, really – if anybody would be able to look at him and see that what he really wanted was to be squeezed, and held onto, and not let go.

It looked all right, though, the three of them lying in the pushed-together beds. Die was nearest the wall, Aoi in the middle, and Uruha on the edge, and Ruki couldn't quite figure out what was felt strange about it, apart from that they all looked so comfortable. Once he was settled beside Aoi, the tension quite visibly left Uruha's pale face, and as his friend slipped a hand over his waist, he even managed a small smile.

'We all in?' Die said in a muffled sort of voice. He, too, looked more relaxed; his skinny body was curving gently around Aoi's shape next to him, perhaps drawing some warmth from his skin.

'All in,' Uruha said.

'All in,' Aoi repeated. He shuffled around slightly under the blankets, and Ruki got up to turn off the light, filled with an odd certainty that the three of them were holding hands under the covers. Standing at the switch by the door, he looked at them briefly: his three strange friends and how oddly right they looked together; the tangle of different hair colours, red against black against honey blond; their matching skins, white as the corridors from spending so much time indoors; even the difference in their bodies – Aoi all slender lines and peculiarly hinged joints, more fluid than most people with his flat belly and skinny hips; Uruha stiffer, slightly more muscular and less androgynous in his frame, one hand untangling itself from the covers to stretch over and start smoothing Die's hair flat against the pillow; Die himself gaunt and hard to look at but peaceful finally, a skeleton come softly and gently to life.

They fit. Ruki couldn't see how, or where exactly the joins were, but – Uruha touching Die's hair, Aoi stretching out so his feet made little tents in the blanket, Die smiling fondly at them both – they fit. It made him understand, suddenly, why the doctors were so worried about Aoi's friendship with Die and why they had moved Uruha into his own private room: there was some power in it, somehow, in fitting that well.

Ruki turned the light off. 'Good night,' he said, settling back down under his blanket in the darkness.

'Good night, Ruki.'

'Good night, Aoi,' Die imitated, and Aoi snorted.

'Good night, Die.'

It was quiet then. The thought between them was clear enough that nobody needed to say it aloud: _good night, Kai_.

 


	27. Chapter 27

The next week or so passed in a strange blur.

To Ruki it was dead time, as if what Kai had done had left some kind of curse over the sanatorium, like an evil miasma in the air: whole days passed more or less without feature, so Ruki kept on sitting down to a meals and finding himself unsure whether this was supposed to be breakfast, lunch or dinner; the afternoons dragged, the air feeling stagnant and the minute hand on the clock standing still, a strange shimmer in the grey light; the evenings fell suddenly, all dark all at once, and the collection of men would look around them in confusion, like animals sensing an earthquake. The few points that did add some colour to the slow, grey days were depressing ones, like news bulletins delivered in a voice like falling rocks: that Uruha was getting worse; that Die was declining. On a day that might have been a Tuesday, Shinya jumped up from a nervy contemplation of the phones and started shouting out, battering the rotary dial with the receiver and succeeding in pulling the entire thing off the wall before he was caught and sedated, and perhaps what they gave him wasn't quite strong enough because he was an invisible, sobbing presence in the isolation room for the next few days, another black cloud to add to the growing dark sky over the ward. When he was finally led back into a communal mealtime, wan and downcast as a child, it was no more than a few minutes before he went off again, tears pouring down his cheeks as his fists beat against the table and his legs kicked out, his back arching, head snapping forwards; and when they took him away after that time there was nothing but silence – days and days of quiet, and worried expressions, and dreams that felt like real life because they were all just about clock-watching, and about shadows moving, and nothing seemed to make sense any more.

 

Since the first night after Kai had died, Ruki had carried on sleeping in Aoi and Die's room. It wasn't something any of them had spoken about; he just left his bedding there and left it up to either of them to tell him if he was making himself unwelcome, but they didn't. Die did snore, just as Aoi had threatened, but never for long; if he kept it up for more than five minutes, the steadiness of the sound would usually be interrupted by a harsh whisper from Aoi, admonishing him to roll onto his side instead, and Die would give a low groan and obey, and there would be quiet again.

Most nights, Uruha joined them. That wasn't discussed, either, and he was never there in the evenings when they went to bed; he would simply show up at some point during the night, unwilling or else unable to sleep alone, twitching and flinching miserably as he stood at the door, which he would open and close twelve times before entering the room – a new development. When he slept, it was with a copy of one of his father's books clutched tight in his arms, _The Local's Guide to Brazil_ or _Russia_ or _Germany_ held flush against his chest, which Aoi complained about because it meant he woke up with the sharp spine of the book digging into his ribs. However sharp his reproves, though, Ruki would hear him whispering quietly later, and it was that more than anything else that seemed to calm Uruha down – Aoi murmuring to him, Die's gentle snores in the dark. Simple, comforting things.

Forbidden, of course.

 

It seemed there were two breaking points, in that period, that led them to do what they did. The first was that Ruki and Uruha were told, point blank, that they had to start sleeping in their own rooms again; the second was that they were informed, as a collective, that attending Kai's funeral was not considered to be in their therapeutic interest. Perhaps noting the foreboding look on Aoi's face, the head nurse had explained calmly that Kai's ashes were to be buried in Tokushima anyway, in the family grave, and that it would be flatly impossible for the sanatorium to ship a group of patients clear across the country just to watch some ashes being interred.

There were rumblings, though, after that announcement. The six of them gathered mutinously in the music room as the rain lashed at the windows, a bluish haze of cigarette smoke gathering in the air like a bad spirit, and for a long time the only sounds were of the record playing – The Byrds' _Mr. Tambourine Man_ , that day – and of Uruha's rhythmic rocking against the wall, and the occasional snapping of a lighter.

'It's not fair,' Die offered up gloomily, and there was a long silence until Aoi finally shifted himself to agree with him.

'No, it's not fair,' he said. 'I don't want that for him.' He gazed around at all of their faces, 'I don't want him to have a lonely funeral out on some stupid island. There won't be anybody there who cares about him. There won't even be anybody who _knows_ him.'

He kicked out angrily, his bare foot making a hollow _thunk_ against the shiny side of the piano. Shinya had been sitting on the piano's stool and resting his head glumly against it; he blinked blearily at the noise, but that was all.

'We should have our own funeral,' Ruki said. 'A real one.'

Everyone was looking at him, but the gaze he felt boring into him most deeply was Kyo's, and so it was Kyo he addressed his next words to. 'We loved him,' he said haltingly, 'And we'll do it properly, and remember him the right way.'

'We can play music,' Kyo said soberly, as if it was just him and Ruki having a conversation, 'That's the right way.'

'Yeah,' Die said, looking at Kyo a little dazedly, 'You're right. We should play all the songs he loved, and all the songs that make us – you know – think about him.' He shot a slightly timid glance at Aoi, who nodded.

'That's the right way,' he said slowly, 'But we have to be careful about it. I don't...' he hesitated, 'I don't want it to cause a huge scene with the nurses. I don't want them bursting in and ruining it. I want it to be peaceful for him.'

There was a beat of stillness, and then Die nodded. He placed his hand carefully on Aoi's shoulder and the dark-haired man immediately grasped at it, clutching onto Die's bony knuckles almost angrily.

'It'll have to be late at night,' Kyo said in his tired voice. He had his eyes on Aoi now, but as he spoke they flicked back to Ruki, 'And I think we should do it in your room.'

' _My_ room?'

'It's where he lived,' Kyo said simply.

'It's far from the nurses' station, too,' Die added.

'There's no music in my room.'

Kyo gave a one-shouldered shrug. 'You've stolen keys before. We'll get the keys to the cage in the music room and get the guitars out.'

'As long as we're sneaky about it,' Aoi said approvingly. 'I can play.'

'Me too,' said Die.

'Me too,' said Uruha, surprisingly, and then went back to chewing on his fingernails. He was blinking rapidly, rocking where he sat, and gently Aoi bent down and tugged his fingers out of his mouth.

'If we get caught...' Ruki began tentatively, shooting a furtive look at Kyo, but Aoi shook his head stubbornly.

'We won't get caught. Last time it was different; we weren't trying to hide it. This time...'

'This time I can help,' Shinya said in his quiet, steady voice; the first time Ruki had ever heard him speak in front of so many people. There was a bit of a stunned silence.

'How?' Die said at last, and Shinya gave him a shy smile.

'I can be the distraction,' he said softly. 'Nobody will ever suspect me. I'll go into the bathroom, lock myself into one of the cubicles, and I'll pretend I'm having one of my...one of my episodes. That should buy you enough time.' He swallowed. 'I'm sure I can fake it,' he said. 'I've done it for real enough times.'

He might have noticed the look of warm admiration on Die's face, because he ducked his head and lay his cheek back against the piano.

'You'll miss the funeral,' Aoi said, his tone of voice surprisingly gentle and deferential, and Shinya gave a slow blink that seemed to be a substitute for a nod.

'I know,' he said, 'That's all right. Kai would understand.' He gave a small smile, 'Besides, this way, even if you get caught they can't put anybody in the isolation room. I'll be in there.'

Ruki licked his dry lips. 'Let's do it tonight,' he said.

When he glanced over at Kyo he found the other man was already looking at him, a small smile on his lips. For the first time in days, Ruki felt able to return it.

 

The surprising thing, the thing that made the night feel almost foreordained – as if it had been planned, somehow, but some sympathetic fates, long ago – was that their plan went off without a hitch.

Shortly after midnight, with the rain still hissing against the trees outside and trickling musically from the eaves, Shinya locked himself inside a cubicle in the bathroom and gave a long, loud cry that, even though he knew it was fake, sent shivers down Ruki's spine. He was lying in bed, where he'd been dozing fitfully for some hours, unable to really fall asleep with the knowledge of what was to come and with the terrible emptiness in his bedroom, quiet and still without Kai. He'd tongued his sleeping pill, but he hadn't been able to put it into the wall; just the thought made his fingers shake and tears come to his eyes. He'd flushed it down the toilet, instead.

Uruha had decided he was to be the one to steal the keys and get the guitars into Ruki's bedroom – 'If any of you get into any more trouble you'll probably get thrown out,' he had said matter-of-factly when the others had argued with him.

Ruki lay on his side, listening to the soft pad of fast footsteps along the doorway and the urgent murmur of conversation. There was some back and forth, and something that sounded like a muffled curse, and then a loud rattling that must have come from the door of the cubicle Shinya had locked himself up in.

Ruki could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes found Kai's empty, stripped bed in the dark, and he squeezed his hand into a tight little fist in the bedclothes.

 _Whatever happens_ , he told himself silently, _it's worth it_.

There was a feather-light, hasty little knock on his door before it opened, spilling light over the floor. Clenching his jaw tightly, Uruha deposited two ancient-looking acoustic guitars onto Kai's bed and tensely set about his strange routine with the door, opening it slightly before whisking it closed again, twelve times in a row, until he finally shut out the light for good and lowered himself onto the floor, shaking.

'Nobody saw me,' he said in a low voice, 'They're all in there with Shinya.' He cast a wary look at Kai's empty bed. 'We'd better keep the light off.'

'Yeah.' Ruki pulled himself up in bed and pushed back the covers, unsure quite what to say. He didn't think he'd ever been in a situation like this with Uruha before; alone with the other man looking quite so lucid and focussed.

'Why twelve?' he blurted, and Uruha blinked at him.

'Excuse me?'

'The number twelve. All the...all the things you do, you do them twelve times, right?'

Uruha gave him a very guarded look; even in the dim light, Ruki could see the reproach in his eyes. 'I suppose,' he said grudgingly.

'So why twelve?'

Uruha studied him for a long time. 'I don't do anything,' he said at last.

'But—'

'I'm getting out of here,' Uruha declared, 'My dad says. In three weeks.'

 

His voice was so certain that Ruki didn't know what to say to him; just stared at him hopelessly and felt relieved when the door quietly clicked open and shut again, Aoi and Die slipping in through the gap. With them in it the room suddenly felt quite small and cramped, and there was nothing for it; the guitars were picked up and the two of them sat on Kai's bed, looking ill-at-ease. One of the guitars settled in Die's lap, and the other in Uruha's, which surprised Ruki; he'd expected Aoi to make a snatch, but the dark-haired man was leaning back on his hands, his shoulders and neck twisted around and his gaze directed somewhere up at the wall behind him.

'There are dark bits,' he whispered, 'Where his posters were.'

He traced their outlines with a finger that trembled lightly; the places where Kai's colourful posters had stopped the sunlight from fading the colour of the walls. From down the hall in the bathrooms, the noise level was increasing, and even after Kyo joined them – glancing around almost apologetically, as if he wasn't supposed to be there – the five of them sat around in an uneasy silence, listening to the sounds Shinya was making and the efforts of the nurses to get in to help him.

'He _is_ faking,' Die whispered uncertainly, 'Right? There's no way he would have...?'

'He's faking,' Aoi assured him gently, but cast a furtive sort of look at Kyo, 'Yeah?'

Kyo gave a single nod, which seemed to be good enough. He hadn't sat on either of the beds; instead he'd sat himself on the floor between them, leaning back against the bedside cabinet Kai and Ruki had shared. They lapsed back into their tense silence, and at length a steady rattling sound reached them, over the top of Shinya's quietening cries – 'They're unscrewing the cubicle door,' Aoi whispered. 'You'd think they'd have thought of that sooner, after what happened in the music room.'

'Thank you for that,' Kyo said suddenly, his voice quiet but clear. 'I'm sorry you got into trouble.'

A look of surprise passed over Aoi's face, but he wrestled it back fairly quickly and shrugged. 'Any time.'

 

After that, they waited. They waited until Shinya's cries were silenced and until they heard the sound of the isolation room door opening and closing, and for the footsteps in the hallway to die down, and for the rattling as they reattached the cubicle door to stop. It took a long time, and they were shivering, chilled from the late hour and the damp that seemed to breathe through the walls from the outside. At last, though, all was silent again, and uncertainly Die ran his fingers over the strings of the guitar in his lap. He played a fairly loud chord, cocking his head to listen for any noise from outside the door, and when there was none he looked around at his friends nervously.

'Right,' he said. 'How should we...start? Should we say something?'

Rolling his eyes, Aoi groped for Die's hand and then reached down and grasped Kyo's. He nodded around the circle, and hesitantly all five men linked their hands, Uruha and Die stretching between the gap in the beds and Kyo bridging the space between Aoi and Ruki, the look on his face utterly unreadable. Biting his lip slightly, Aoi lowered his head, and they all followed suit.

'Kai,' he said simply, 'You were our friend, and we all love you a lot. We're not angry at you for what you did. We miss you, but don't feel like your ghost has to hang around here, okay? There are much better places to haunt.' He paused, and when he continued, it was in a slightly strained voice, 'I hope wherever you are, you're happy and safe, and that you're not scared. Don't worry about the others...I'll take care of them.' He cleared his throat and sniffed. 'We're going to play some songs for you now,' he said, his voice heavy and husky, and he raised his head and gave Die a slight nod.

'What should I play?' the redhead asked, looking baffled, and Aoi broke the link between their hands to press his own palms down over his face.

'Anything,' he said, his voice muffled, 'Whatever comes into your head.'

Biting his lip, Die tapped nervously on the guitar. There was a gentle clearing of a throat from across the room, and sitting next to Ruki on his bed, Uruha gently strummed his own guitar strings. He shook his head like he'd missed an easy note, frowning, and then plucked his way hesitantly through a tune that started to sound familiar, melancholy and wistful and nostalgic, and Ruki had just about placed it when across from him, quietly, Die began to sing: _'Living is easy with eyes closed...'_

It clicked for all of them, and with shy, broken voices they picked it up, ' _Misunderstanding all you see,_

_It's getting hard to be someone, but it all works out_

_It doesn't matter much to me..._ '

Suddenly, Ruki had to stop and clench his jaw tight. The tears welled up in his eyes so suddenly that they stung, and he felt a great silent sob leave him weak.

' _Strawberry fields, nothing is real..._ '

It didn't matter that the words sounded funny in their voices; that they were just doing their best to imitate the sounds. To Ruki's ear it sounded imperfect but not wrong – sweet, and sad, and so tender that he felt his voice kept dying in his throat. He became aware that almost every singing voice was becoming weaker around him; that there were tears glistening on Die's cheeks in the dim light coming from under the door and that Uruha was sniffing and gasping softly, and that Aoi's shoulders were shaking. He looked down at Kyo and found the other man not crying, but looking straight up at Ruki, his eyes dark with emotion. Haltingly, he reached up and clasped Ruki's small hand in his larger one.

' _Strawberry fields forever_ ,' they finished finally, voices straggling, and Uruha's fingers stilled on the strings. They sat hunched, all staring at each other, and Ruki thought he felt it as they all felt it: something loosening in his chest – in _all_ of their chests – as if something painful had finally dislodged, and it was now easier to breathe. He managed to smile at Die, and sadly, the other man smiled back and flexed his fingers over the guitar strings.

 

It became easier after that. Die played a gentle cover of _Sittin' On The Dock of a Bay_ , and Ruki thought about how many times he'd heard the song spill tinnily from Kai's little radio over the summer. Aoi took the guitar and played _Ruby Tuesday_ , which they mostly only knew the chorus to, and then Uruha played _Let It Be_. The three of them took it in turns, relaxing into it; some songs made them cry, some songs made them smile, but both felt right. The night started to feel warmer with so many of them pressed into the same room, and Aoi stuffed Ruki's bed sheets around the crack under the door to try and muffle the sound further as Die provided a quite raucous rendition of _Octopus's Garden,_ which made them laugh even if it was a tearful sort of laughter. After that, they heard a stirring from down the hallway, and shot anxious looks at each other, but it didn't stop Aoi from setting his face and starting to play the song that Ruki knew would always, always make him think of Kai – even hearing just a tiny snatch of it, even years later – always Kai: _Like A Bridge Over Troubled Water_. Perhaps they were all remembering the strange stand-off that song had caused in the TV room, because it seemed that was the song to truly tear the grief from their chests and loose it into the world; they didn't know what the words meant but Ruki thought they sang them the way they were meant:

' _When darkness comes, and pain is all around_

_Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down...'_

Aoi's fingers faltered on the strings, and he stopped playing abruptly. He was crying in a gulping, unpretty kind of way, rocking back and forth where he sat, and carefully Die gathered him up. Wordless, Uruha leant over and set a gentle hand on his knee, and Ruki was strangely aware of it again: the weird balance that existed between the three of them.

He looked at them, and he looked at Kyo, and a few moments of the night passed by quietly.

 

None of them were sure how long they had sat there. It was still dark outside, but it seemed to Ruki that it might not have been quite as dark as it once was, and in the quiet between them there was another sound, however faint and patchy: birdsong.

Uruha clutched his guitar tighter to his body, looking at Aoi.

'We should play his favourite song,' he said quietly.

'Yeah,' Aoi agreed, an air of finality in his voice, 'We should.'

He watched the door for a long moment, evidently listening out for any other sounds before making eye contact with Uruha again: together, tripping over each other only slightly, they started to strum, and this time everybody was ready because there was no doubt at all as to what they were going to play.

_'What would you think if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?'_

The last time Ruki had heard it, it was being played for him just outside the door of the isolation room, and he couldn't help but see the parallels between then and now: all his friends gathered around, showing their support for one of their own in the only way they could. The music didn't change anything; it didn't alter the situation at all – it was like wrapping your arms around somebody to shield them from a nuclear blast; it did nothing; it was pointless; but at the end of it all it _meant_ something.

That was the important bit, Ruki thought. It meant something to all of them, and it would have meant something to Kai, and if that was all they could do then it still might be good enough.

' _Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends,_

_Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends,_

_Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends..._ '

 

It was a song to grow warmer on, and as they finished it, Ruki saw that he was right: the sky really was getting slightly brighter over at the horizon line; the black had turned to purple, almost blue, and he knew soon it would fade to grey and the sun would start another slow struggle over the hills. Nobody said anything, but Aoi gathered up both guitars, and their small funeral began to break up. Die and Aoi left quietly, tiptoeing away one by one, and when Uruha left he took both guitars to stash under his bed until they could figure out some way to replace them.

That left just Kyo, and when he stood up to go Ruki gave him some kind of look that seemed to stop him in his tracks. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, he jammed his hands in his pockets and gave a loose kind of shrug.

'Sit down,' Ruki suggested, his voice slightly hoarse from singing and crying. Not looking at him, Kyo did so, perching next to him on the bed.

'It was a good idea,' Ruki said after a short silence. Kyo gave a slow nod, and Ruki glanced up at him a little cautiously. 'You held my hand,' he said. There was another nod in response, tireder this time, but now Kyo was looking at him. Ruki gave an awkward shrug. 'I thought you didn't like being touched.'

'I...' Kyo shut his mouth and shook his head. 'It's not that.'

'Then what is it?' Ruki pushed gently, and Kyo shot him another unreadable sort of look.

'Nobody touches me like you do,' he said haltingly. 'I'm not – used to it. It felt different.'

'It made you uncomfortable?'

'I just didn't know what to do.' Kyo sighed, his eyes moving slowly around Ruki's face, taking in his pale skin and his nose and his lips, examining them for any sign of untrustworthiness. 'I can't read it, the way you touch me. I don't know what you're telling me; I don't know what you want. But you're doing something. You're – you're getting to me, somehow. Inside. You're making me think about you. You're pushing your way in.' Kyo shook his head exhaustedly, and Ruki bit down on his own lip gently.

'When it was raining,' he said hesitantly, 'You covered me with your umbrella.'

'Correct.'

'And when I was locked up, you sat outside the door all night. And when – when I told you about Eiji, you never made me feel like an idiot, or like I was delusional. You made me feel like he was the wrong one. You made me see that he – he treated me badly. And it was _wrong_.'

Kyo shrugged lop-sidedly, and Ruki faltered. 'So you pushed your way in, too,' he said.

 

Clumsy, Kyo leant forward and pushed their lips together. His hand found a shaking hold on Ruki's hip before it fell away and he pulled back, looking almost horrified; he didn't look away, though. His deep brown eyes remained fixed on Ruki's face, huge with whatever emotion was making him look so torn up, and slowly Ruki reached up and touched his own lips.

He couldn't tell exactly what he was feeling, because it seemed like he was feeling everything all at once; that he was full of the sensations of his heart racing and his lungs contracting and the neurons in his brain firing off their tiny electrical signals; of each strand of hair stiffening in its follicle and the feeling of the air next to his skin and the way his cock was stirring between his legs, taking in the sight of the other man, tired and scared and beautiful anyway.

Most of all it was the look Kyo was giving him, scared but still steady and unwavering – as always; as it always had been, and as Ruki hoped it always would be. When they kissed again Kyo immediately put both hands behind his back, as if to prove that he meant no harm, but it didn't matter; the blood was rushing in Ruki's ears and he slipped his own hands around Kyo's waist, pulling him closer. Kyo's lips were an unusually angular sort of shape, like words written in a foreign language, and there was a fullness to them that made Ruki want to push hard against him, but he didn't. They were soft, too; they were so soft. They were softer than Ruki had thought a man could be.

He liked it. It was a truth too glaring to ignore, how much he liked it.

It was a feeling like falling, he thought, because he was terrified. But he felt free.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Strawberry Fields Forever_ is my favourite Beatles song, and in my head it's sorta been Kai's theme throughout this entire story. To me it always sounds so melancholy in a wonderfully understated way, and it's full of that sort of dreamlike confusion of being a child. One line that was totally Kai to me:  
>  _Always, no, sometimes think it's me,_  
>  But you know I know when it's a dream...'  
> To me that's total Kai in this. Never as dumb as he looked.  
> Anyway. Shut up, Solongsun.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ruddy nervous about this.

Ruki couldn't tell which of them broke the contact between their lips. His head felt like it was spinning.

Everything felt incredibly real. He felt like one of those sensitive instruments that can detect earthquakes happening hundreds of miles away; he could feel and see and hear everything: the chattering birdsong, the pitch of Kyo's breathing and the thrashing of his heart; the early morning damp in the air; the way the horizon was more blue now than black, showing the dark silhouettes of the clouds and the hills. He felt the way the hair was standing up on the back of his own neck, and most of all he felt the look that they shared between them, their two sets of dark eyes clashing, both of them mutely asking the same question; _is this okay?_

It took a split second, and then cautiously Kyo took hold of Ruki around the waist, his grip gentle but firm. He paused, glancing down at his hands as if they had confused him, and then uncertainly moved one of them to the back of Ruki's neck. They were shaking slightly, Ruki realised. The hand on his neck shifted to cup his jaw, and when he didn't object to that, Kyo's thumb carefully stroked his cheek. His eyes were wary, but there was something else in them; there was something like heat, smouldering dangerously just below the surface. He bit his lower lip and then, experimentally, moved forward and brushed that same lip against Ruki's.

The hand on his waist gripped a little harder, warming him through his clothes. Ruki butted his head forward gently, deepening the contact between them; he dropped his hands to the hem of his T-shirt and pushed it clumsily up so that both Kyo's hands were against his bare skin. He bit down on Kyo's lip and pressed his tongue against it to make the other man groan; the bed dipped beneath them and he grabbed two fistfuls of Kyo's clothing, dragging him down. His head hit the pillow and he felt the sharp lines of Kyo's body over the top of him, his knees spread apart to straddle Ruki's legs.

Ruki's dream flashed through his mind like lightning: nothing above him but Kyo; nothing above Kyo but sky.

 _I want you_ , coming from his own lips. _I want you_.

Kyo was supporting himself on one hand, the other still clutching at Ruki's waist, and Ruki only hesitated for a moment before he grabbed that hand and pushed it up higher, letting Kyo's fingertips brush just barely over his nipple. It was stiff and sensitive; he could feel the way it was making a point in his T-shirt, and when Kyo touched it Ruki felt like he was unravelling. He shivered, a little noise escaping his throat, and felt it as Kyo's warm hand slid around the shape of his body to steady him.

And it was the weirdest feeling, tasting him. Eiji had always tasted like either coffee or cigarettes or mouthwash, but Kyo didn't; he tasted – _familiar_. Recognisable in a way Ruki couldn't identify, except that it was good, and that he wanted more of it.

 

Their lips parted with a soft sound, and Kyo sat up on his knees uncertainly. His lips were red and blurred looking, and he swiped a hand awkwardly through his hair. His fingers were spanned out over the delicate cage of Ruki's ribs, and it was a strange perspective for Ruki, looking down the length of his body: seeing his T-shirt rumpled around his chest, that still hand on his skin, the waist of his pants and, just below that, the shape of his cock pushing upward against his clothes. He flushed, looking at it, and met Kyo's eyes unsteadily.

'Sorry,' he said, and Kyo hesitated agonisingly, his hand a tight fist tangled in his own hair.

'I don't know what to do,' he said bluntly, 'I've never done this before.'

'You don't have to do anything,' Ruki said nervously, but his hands were making little fists in Kyo's T-shirt, dragging him back down and pressing their lips together again. He slid his leg up at the knee, feeling his thigh brush against Kyo's hip; it brought their bodies closer together and he couldn't help arching up slightly, pressing his cock against Kyo's leg. His hands on the older man's T-shirt were growing more insistent, tugging it upwards, and they broke apart just for the time it took for him to yank it up off Kyo's head and shoulders, the neck catching his hair and making it wild. Breathlessly, Ruki reached up and smoothed it down.

He had real muscles; real abs that twitched slightly when Ruki ran a hand over them. In the very centre of his chest, where his heart raced, there lay a few long thin white scars like little ghosts embedded in his skin; fragments of his history, back from the dead. Kyo met his eyes, and Ruki touched them uncertainly.

'You don't have to—'

'I know.'

Carefully Kyo eased himself off Ruki's body, lying down next to him instead, his chin propped on his hand. He stared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and giving a strange, husky sort of laugh.

'This is insane.'

'Well...' Ruki shrugged awkwardly, 'so are we.'

Kyo smiled wryly. 'Correct.'

'Do you want to stop?' Ruki asked, his heart beating high in his chest, and there it was: Kyo was meeting his eyes again, that strange, intense stare that made him feel like his whole body was suddenly full of blood.

'I don't know how to go on,' he said in his hoarse voice. It was a confession, but he didn't sound ashamed; his eyes were blazing and they took Ruki in from top to bottom.

'Have you ever...?'

'No.'

'But you...' Ruki found himself blushing furiously, ' _Touch_ yourself and stuff, right?'

Kyo raised an eyebrow, and suddenly the two of them were laughing – not the tense, rough sort of laugh Kyo had given earlier, but real honest laughter, young-sounding in the dim light. Companionably, Ruki rolled closer to him and they kissed; gently this time, affectionately. He could feel himself smiling like an idiot against the other man's lips, but he didn't seem to be able to stop.

'Yes,' Kyo told him in a quiet, amused voice, 'I touch myself.'

 

It was an unfamiliar feeling, Ruki thought, lying there with somebody less experienced than he was. Eiji had always taken the lead; Ruki hadn't even had to think. It had always felt like a luxury, not having to make decisions, but now that the ball was in his court it felt strangely freeing; more than that, it made him feel strangely _powerful_. He nudged himself closer to the older man, not kissing him but simply pressing his lips against his jaw, filling himself up with the taste and smell of his skin; he ran a hand down his body and touched tentatively between his legs. He felt rather than heard the hiss of Kyo's breath then, and he dared to press more boldly, his fingers finding the shape of the other man through his clothes.

He bit his lip, curling his fingers gently. His eyes flicked up to meet Kyo's, their gazes equally dark but equally anxious, and before he could stop himself he blurted, 'I've never done this before, either.'

He didn't really expect the other man to understand what he meant, but it was true: he'd never spent time looking at and slowly exploring somebody else's body; he'd never lain there with the breathing room to figure out what he might want to do to them; how he might feel about them. It was astonishing, the bolt of lust that went through him when he touched like that, tentative but growing surer; Kyo made a soft noise and Ruki felt it all the way through his body. His own dick twitched between his legs, and he felt Kyo's hand gently curve around his hip. It neither pushed him away nor pulled him closer, but it made him braver; brave enough to slip his hand carefully beneath the waist of Kyo's pants.

 

He thought how weird it was that he had never done this; that he had no flesh memory of this. Could it really be true? Kyo's cock was hot against his palm, hard, and the angle was awkward with his clothes in the way. Fumbling, Ruki managed to wrap his fingers around it and rub his thumb lightly across the tip, smearing the small bead of moisture he felt there. Kyo took a sharp breath in, his grip tightening briefly on Ruki's hip, and Ruki felt that warm hand push uncertainly at the waist of his own pants, tugging them down along with his underwear – just a few inches, but enough. He felt cool air against his hot dick, and then Kyo's hand was on him, stroking cautiously.

'Kyo...'

He mumbled the other man's name against his neck, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. After all this time, to be touched by somebody else was overwhelming; he felt his free hand fist itself uselessly in the bed sheets and he bit down on Kyo's skin to stifle a moan. The older man's touch wasn't cautious for long, and Ruki felt a shiver seem to pass through his whole body as Kyo's strokes became more confident; as he started to vary his pressure and push his thumb up against the head of his cock: _he wants to make me cum. He's trying to get me off, right now_.

Why hadn't Eiji ever done this? Kyo's hand was big and felt so much stronger than his own; it felt so much more exploratory and intimate than his own ever did, and the thing that really made Ruki feel like he was coming undone was that he could feel how completely the other man was _concentrating_ ; how carefully he was taking in Ruki's every gasp and moan and every desperate push of his hips, learning how to make him feel good.

Kyo's other hand found his hip again, pressing on it until he rolled onto his back, and suddenly the other man was over him again, looking down at him with those intense dark eyes. Slowly, watching Ruki closely for any negative reaction, he gathered up the younger man's wrists in one hand and pressed them into the bed over his head, laying his body out: chest and belly exposed where his shirt was rucked up around his armpits; dick flushed and pushing straight up where his pants had been pushed down below his hips.

'Is this all right?' he asked quietly, and Ruki gave a dizzy nod. Kyo kissed his lips hard and then his free hand returned to his dick, stroking it faster now and pulling the noises from the Ruki's throat, the combination of that hand on him and those dark eyes fixed on his face almost feeling like too much to bear, because how had Kyo _known_? It had been what had attracted him to Eiji in the first place – the thought that this older man could pin him down and be dominant; the thought that he could make him give in. Something between them had always been slightly off, though – something about the way Eiji's authority had always been so absolute, and so cruel sometimes, because even if Ruki wanted to be taken he didn't want to be humiliated – but now, lying on his back and pressed into his own bed, Kyo's fist tight around the head of his cock, he almost felt it click into place: what he wanted, what the difference was. Eiji would never have looked at him with that question in his eyes, with that _are you okay?_ written all over him. He never would have watched Ruki so closely for every flicker of reaction; never would have used that information to push him right up to the edge the way Kyo was doing; would never have pressed down so hard and yet touched so gently, smelled so much like a lover, looked so much like a friend.

Ruki realised that he was moaning the other man's name over and over, and bit down on his own lip harshly. His hips were bucking upwards into Kyo's hand no matter how he tried to stop them, and he flung his head back and arched because it all felt so _good_. This, more than anything, felt like losing his religion, and the thought in his head was so clear and pure he couldn't bring himself to get worried about it: _of course this is it. Of course I'm gay._

_This is the way I want it to be._

_This is what I want_.

'Kyo,' he gasped, 'Kyo, I'm gonna—'

'Cum,' the other man said, his voice almost a growl, and as if it had been an order Ruki cried out, his hips snapping upwards as he emptied himself over Kyo's hand and forearm. Gently, the hand that had been holding Ruki's wrists in place retreated, and Kyo settled himself back on the bed beside him, lying on his side with his cum-spattered hand held carefully up off the sheets.

 

It was stupid, because Ruki didn't know what to say. Hesitantly, he pulled his pants back up. He caught the uncertain look in Kyo's eyes, the sudden worry there, and shook his head wordlessly.

'That felt better than it's ever felt,' he said unsteadily. His chest was rising and falling in a jagged, uneven way, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm it down. The sight of his own cum on Kyo's hand made him blush, and the older man gave him a tentative smile. 'Sorry,' Ruki said, annoyed at how breathless his own voice was. He cleared his throat. 'You're still hard, I...' he slipped a hand between Kyo's legs, squeezing lightly, but Kyo's fingers closed around his wrist and stopped him.

'I'm not ready,' he said gently.

'Oh.'

Kyo rolled onto his back and shrugged, resting his cum-covered hand on his own stomach. 'I wanted to do that to you,' he said in his hoarse, mellow sort of voice, 'But I'm not ready to be touched yet.' He paused. 'Sorry.'

Ruki smiled. He turned his head to catch the other man's eye and Kyo smiled back at him; it was tired, but it was warm and sincere, and just looking at it Ruki felt something weird, like a fluttering sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach.

'Life is strange,' he mumbled, hardly realising and he was speaking aloud, and Kyo gave a single nod.

'Correct.'

'I'm sorry I...I'm sorry I shut you out.' Ruki paused, staring back up at the ceiling, 'It was wrong.'

He felt Kyo give another shrug next to him: 'It was understandable.'

'No, it wasn't.'

'Yes, it was. I'm not looking for forgiveness. I don't deserve to be forgiven.'

'Don't you?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

Kyo was quiet for a moment, apparently struggling to put his thoughts into words. 'What's lost can't be born again,' he said finally.

'Maybe it can,' Ruki said carefully. He felt Kyo shoot him a quizzical look, and shrugged, 'Weren't you the one who wanted to be reincarnated?' There was a silence in which Kyo didn't say anything, broken up only by the birds singing outside, so he soldiered on: 'Why would you have to wait until the end of your life to have that happen? You can remake yourself any time. We're all supposed to be doing it right now. Getting better. And...' he hesitated, 'Some of us will, and some of us won't.'

He cast Kyo a sudden, serious sort of look, 'But I think I will. And I think you will, too. If you want to.'

He couldn't understand the glance Kyo gave him, then. But the older man reached out and took his hand, and they lay that way for a long time.

 

The sky was grey by the time Kyo left, and Ruki was half asleep. The birds were loud, but it was soothing; he heard starlings chattering and the swooping calls of the swifts and the distant sound of a skein of geese passing overhead, heading someplace warm. He felt the other man's weight leave the bed and he blinked blearily against the greyish dawn light. He was so tired that Kyo's shape was little more than a blur, and he closed his eyes again as he felt a hand stroke the hair back from his forehead. Very gently, the older man placed a kiss there.

'I need to go back to my room. If we're caught like this—'

'Don't go.' Ruki pulled his head away from the pillow groggily, blinking.

'I have to.'

He knew he was being stupid, but he felt a strange twitch of panic at those words. He tried to pull himself further upright, but he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down.

'I'll see you at breakfast,' Kyo said, and something in his voice made it sound very significant. Ruki squinted up at him, trying to read any sign of a lie in his eyes.

'How long is that?' he asked at last, relaxing, and Kyo snorted.

'About fifty minutes.'

'Good,' Ruki said sleepily. 'Promise you'll be there?'

Pause. 'Yes, I promise.'

Ruki nodded tiredly, snuggling further down into his pillow, and he heard as Kyo quietly walked away and closed the door behind him. It felt like the corridors around him had been quiet for hours; he wondered if Shinya was sleeping peacefully in the isolation room; if Aoi and Die had pushed their beds together again; if Uruha had slept in his own room or tucked in with them, where he seemed to belong.

Ruki rolled onto his side, facing out into the small room, and he opened his eyes to take in the sight of Kai's empty, lonely-looking bed. If he concentrated, he could almost pretend that he could hear the crackly hiss of Kai's little radio amongst the sound of the birds; it was as if he was out there somewhere with them, only hidden by the trees or by the early morning mist, smiling and tapping along to his favourite songs, humming because nobody could ever tell him to cut it out again. It was so easy to believe that Ruki couldn't help smiling, feeling as though he was half dreaming and half awake; if there was any possibility that reincarnation was real then Kai couldn't possibly have become anything but a bird. Something with a great flock, his kin all around him; something dipping tail and bobbing head; building nests to live in; shedding vibrant feathers; something soaring up into the sky, heading somewhere with no storms; heading somewhere warm for the winter; heading somewhere safe – something taking wing, free at last and singing joyfully.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! Just to let you know that this fic won't be updated next week, as I'll be away. Sorry and bye, and be good in my absence.


	29. Chapter 29

That day, when it began, was a long one. Kyo was at breakfast, as he'd promised, and though neither he nor Ruki said anything much to each other Ruki sat down in the seat next to him, the one that was always normally left empty.

He felt a small sort of ruffle go around the room at that, Aoi sliding Die a secretive sort of look, but otherwise the atmosphere was just as quiet as it had been every day since Kai had died: just a little cleaner, perhaps; a little more refreshed by the little funeral they'd held.

Ruki had therapy with Sato immediately after breakfast, which he stumbled through sleepily, mixing up his words and yawning widely, and when he got back into the TV room there was a strange kind of tension around, and it didn't take him long to figure out why: Aoi was sitting in one of the armchairs with his arms firmly crossed over his chest, scowling deeply towards the sofa where Uruha sat with his father. Ruki blanked for a moment on the man's name, and had to close his eyes and quickly try and picture Uruha's perfectly arranged bookshelf before it came back to him: Takashima Hayato, that was it.

He had pulled his son into his side and was stroking his hair comfortingly, apparently oblivious to the bloody murder in Aoi's eyes. Nervously, Ruki halted in the door frame, unsure if he wanted to be a part of this or not: he was too slow, though. Die's eyes caught his and latched on desperately.

'Come and join us,' he gabbled, obviously hoping to break some of the tension, 'Uruha's dad was just saying...he's been to Holland.' He winced and rubbed his chest as if it was hurting him, his voice sounding strangely breathless.

'The Netherlands,' Uruha's father corrected, smiling at Die warmly, 'Holland is just one region in the country.'

'So did you go outside of Holland?' Aoi asked in a hostile sort of voice as Ruki reluctantly took a seat.

'Well – no, not this time. We were filming this time only around Amsterdam, really, with a small feature on The Hague, and—'

'So Uruha's dad just got back from Holland,' Aoi interrupted, sounding bored. He lit up a cigarette, slouched down so far in his chair that his chin almost rested on his chest; his knees were spread wide and his bare feet were braced on the floor. He looked so strangely aggressive that it was almost difficult for Ruki to pull his eyes away from him, and he didn't realise that Uruha's father was addressing him until Die reached out and socked him helpfully in the arm.

'Huh?'

 

'I was just saying,' Uruha's father said without a hint of impatience, 'That myself and Mrs Takashima are both terribly sorry for your loss. Kai was a very nice young man.'

'Yeah,' Ruki agreed quietly, 'He was.' He pressed his hands between his knees to stop them from betraying his nervousness, 'Where is...Mrs Takashima?'

'Oh, Uruha's mother—' he gave his son's shoulders a gentle squeeze, 'She couldn't make it today. She's very active in various charities, you see, and she's hosting a charity poker tournament in Tokyo this afternoon.'

Ruki's eyes focussed more clearly on Uruha: he had his eyes closed and he was tapping on his own forehead rhythmically, counting under his breath. He watched his lips twitch as he counted from one to twelve, and then started over again.

'Uru?' he said gently, but got no response. Uruha's father tightened his grip protectively.

'My son is upset,' he explained. 'As I'm sure you all are. I know Kai was very troubled, but to do something like this...' he sighed, 'And of course it places a great deal of pressure on this institution. _Where_ he got the pills from...he must have stolen them.'

'He didn't,' Ruki said defensively, before he could stop himself. Every eye in the room except Uruha's landed on him, and he flushed. 'It's not stealing,' he muttered uncomfortably, and Uruha's father shook his head.

'You were his roommate, Ruki. You didn't have any hint...?'

'Of course he didn't,' Aoi butted in sharply, 'Don't you think if Ruki had known, he would have stopped it?'

Uruha made a soft noise, and his father gave Aoi a strangely shuttered look.

'I understand you're angry at what's happened,' he said levelly, 'But I can't have you upsetting my son further.'

'We've been doing a pretty good job of comforting him without you,' Aoi said acidly, and Uruha's father smiled at him in a pitying sort of way.

'Oh, Aoi,' he said in a soft voice, 'I know it's difficult, but I have utmost faith in you and in the exceptional staff here. One day, you'll conquer these...unnatural desires of yours.'

Die took a wincing little intake of breath, and Ruki could see why: Aoi's fingers had given an ominous twitch around his cigarette, and the look in his eyes was so intensely venomous that Ruki couldn't see how the older Takashima could look at him without choking on it.

' _Dad_ ,' Uruha muttered reproachfully, the first word Ruki had heard him say. It seemed nobody had been expecting it; Die's eyes blinked wide and Aoi smiled disbelievingly. Takashima Senior gave his son a very sudden, very strange kind of look.

'What, Uruha?' he asked, his voice dangerously gentle, but Uruha shook his head hard. He touched his chin to his right shoulder twelve times in a row, turning his head painfully, and then switched to the left shoulder. Nobody said anything until he was finished, when his father repeated: ' _What_ , Uruha?'

'Don't,' Die protested uneasily. A sort of shadow passed over his eyes and he gave another rub to his chest.

'This is between me and my son,' Uruha's father said, not bothering to look up at him; he took a firm but gentle hold of Uruha's arm and as one they both stood up from the sofa.

'Where are you going?' Aoi blurted, the small smile on his face replaced with a look of alarm. Uruha's father's hand was around his son's upper arm like a cuff, and for some reason Aoi's eyes seemed mesmerised by that.

'The atmosphere in here is not good for Uruha at present,' Uruha's father said, 'And I'd like a private talk with him. We'll go into his room.'

'But—' Aoi clambered to his feet, looking strangely panicky, 'Don't. Stay here. I'll be nicer; I'm sorry.'

'Aoi, I need to have some privacy with my son. Some matters are family only; you must understand that.'

' _Please_ ,' Aoi said, his teeth gritted, 'I won't listen in. Or we'll go; Die and Ruki and me, we'll go—'

'No disturbances, please, Aoi.' He gave Aoi an inscrutable look, 'You know your treatment might be changed if you start acting up.'

 

Still gripping Uruha's upper arm, the elder Takashima steered his son from the room. Sick, Ruki tried to catch his eye, but he saw that Uruha's eyes were closed again, and that he was back to tapping his forehead with his free hand, although he was doing it harder than he had been earlier. Aoi hurried to the doorway, watching over his friend as he was taken away; his fingernails made little crescent marks in the white-plastered walls as he saw Uruha steered blindly into his bedroom and the door close with a decisive snap behind them.

As soon as it did so he seemed to slump, his eyes oddly empty. It wasn't just him; Die too looked strangely defeated, his gaze directed firmly down at his lap, and Ruki had to keep swallowing past the thick feeling of nausea that kept rising in his stomach. Slowly, Aoi trailed back to his seat and sat down heavily.

'What do we do?' Die said, and Aoi shook his head helplessly.

'There's nothing we can do,' he said, his voice listless in a way Ruki had never heard it, 'You know that bastard has a key to all the doors here. Even if we tried sending somebody else in...' his voice faded and he shook his head hopelessly.

'He has _keys_?'

'He's the main benefactor of this place, remember? He gets everything he asks for, including the nurses' trust.'

'How do you know all this?'

Aoi looked at him tiredly. 'Uruha.'

'But can't we tell—'

'Would they believe us?' Aoi snapped. 'Have they _ever_ believed us, when we've told?'

There was an uncomfortable atmosphere between the three of them; even though they were all on different chairs they had the air of being huddled up very close together, like animals in a pack trying to keep warm.

'We can't just sit here,' Die said in a hollow voice after a long moment had passed, 'This is crazy.'

Aoi just directed a despairing look at the both of them, because of course it was crazy: everything was crazy. They were crazy, and their lives were crazy, and Ruki hadn't thought about it much before but he was pretty sure the world outside might be crazy, too. The sanity, when you found it, was precious – was something to be hoarded, to be stored away in little pockets of memory; the times when life was lucid and things made sense. The pure times.

There was a terrible tightness to Aoi's face. His hand fisted a handful of his own hair repeatedly. Ruki watched his eyes grow darker and darker, and at last, with an awful sort of tiredness, he got to his feet. Hesitantly, a wary eye on his friend, Die did so too. He was moving funnily though, Ruki thought; his face went pale as soon as he stood up and and he clutched at the back of his vacated chair weakly, his arms trembling.

'Die?' Ruki asked quietly, but Die simply shook his head.

'Just stood up too fast,' he said breathlessly. He coughed, huge dry coughs that seemed to shake his whole body, and Ruki's eyes and Aoi's eyes met looking at their friend.

The most painful thing was that Ruki could sense the conflict in Aoi; the feeling that the two people he cared about most were trapped on opposite sides of a burning building, and because there was no way to decide which one he should try to save first, they were both at risk of being overwhelmed by the flames. Careful, Ruki stepped forward and took Die's arm.

'You should lie down,' he said, surprised by how firm and authoritative his voice came out. He'd never thought about that before; how he had a voice that could do a lot of different things; sound a lot of different ways. Almost meekly, Die nodded. Carefully Ruki guided him to the door, slightly shocked by how much the taller man was leaning on him; he glanced back, trying to send Aoi a reassuring look.

A fat tear was coursing down his cheek, and as Ruki watched, he clenched his shaking fists. Completely silently, he grasped the back of the chair he'd been sitting on, hefted it up on its edge and shoved it over as hard as he could. It was as if it was happening in slow motion; Ruki saw the tense flex of his muscles; the miserable contortion of his face. The chair made surprisingly little noise; it fetched up against the sofa, upended, and Aoi crumpled to his knees. His body sagged forward, his face against the floor as if he was kowtowing, and his elbows stuck out at ungainly angles as his hands made two hopeless fists before him.

Die coughed, his whole body doubling over with the effort, and Ruki walked him to his room.

 

That afternoon, he received a letter. It was contained within a thick, expensive-feeling cream envelope – quite unlike the cheap thin paper Ruki liked to draw and write on, almost foreign-feeling – but addressed in a sprawling hand. He held it gently.

Outside the window the world was cold and brown-looking from the dying autumn leaves; the sky was hazy white and everything looked further away than usual, as if Ruki was looking at it through the wrong side of a telescope.

He went and sat in his own room, tapping the envelope against the palm of his hand restlessly.

He would have known who the letter was from even if Eiji's return address hadn't been printed on the back: it seemed to scream of him. The chaotic handwriting – because creatives _never_ have neat handwriting, he could hear Eiji opining in his head – and the fancy stationery. That voice again: _if you want to make quality work, you have to use the best quality materials. That just makes sense, doesn't it?_

It only occurred to him now, sitting on his bed, how strongly he disagreed. He turned the envelope over and scrutinised it with something like distaste. Absently, his hand reached out and he pulled the most treasured of his postcards from the wall; Eiji Okada's _The Student At Work_ , its beautiful blends of light and dark and the soft, strangely abstract hues, like something seen in a dream.

But it wasn't Ruki.

He understood that now. It _was_ him, in that it was very obviously _supposed_ to be him and that it was a good likeness, but it wasn't him at the same time, because the real him would never have been working at an easel like that; he'd never chosen to use an easel in his life; he found them awkward. It was only in recent years he'd managed to talk himself into working at a desk; his comfortable place to work was on the floor, flat on his stomach, the way it always had been.

And the real him would never have worn an expression so delicately pensive; so ethereal. Whenever he worked on something he felt passionate about, he would come up from it with his jaw aching from where he'd clenched it; he understood that his expression at those times was fierce; was aware; was focussed. Not soft and pretty: hard. And why were the hands so classically posed around a paintbrush, when he always preferred to draw rather than paint; why were they so clean when he always found them spotted with ink and smudged with charcoal, great black bleeding stains over the fingers?

It was him; it wasn't him.

In a single decisive motion, he ripped the postcard in two.

 

He paused for a minute to figure out how it made him feel, and he realised that he didn't feel anything at all, so he layered the two halves on top of each other and ripped again, and again. Methodically he tore it into confetti, and when he was finished there wasn't a single scrap of paper that could have betrayed the original nature of the image. When he was finally done, and before he could stop himself, he did the same thing with Eiji's letter, not even bothering to take it out of the envelope before starting to rip and rip and rip. The pile of paper on the bed before him got larger, and little ribbons of words made their way up to him but he ignored them; _love_ and _art_ and _work_ and _you_.

When he was done he opened the window and, crooking his arm awkwardly through the bars, placed the paper scraps in a little pile on the ledge outside, leaving them there in the still, cold air. He thought if birds could make their nests with Die's hair, maybe they'd want to blend in a little expensive paper, as well.

Then, he went off to knock on Kyo's door.

It was odd how he felt. Everything was falling apart, that much was obvious from Uruha's closed door and the splintery silence from the TV room and the sickroom hush coming from Die's, but he felt powerful. He couldn't stop any of it; there was hardly _anything_ in the world that he could stop; but he thought he could stop himself – that much he was capable of.

It wasn't something he'd ever acknowledged before: the idea that he didn't have to run after somebody just because they were walking away from him. That just because they'd traced a track for him, that didn't mean he couldn't walk to other places, instead.

When Kyo answered the door, Ruki could see that same distorted view from the window in his bedroom; everything far and sort of bleached of colour, paler than normal, as if reality was inching back from them. But Kyo was the right colours. Against that backdrop he looked almost violently alive, and Ruki was aware that he probably looked the same: eyes dark, cheeks flushed, hair messy.

'I got a letter from Eiji,' he said, walking into Kyo's bedroom. He waited for the other man to shut the door behind him, studying his face carefully.

'Oh.' Kyo's expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything else and Ruki hesitated, feeling the way his breath was coming higher and faster than normal in his chest.

'I didn't read it,' he said. 'I ripped it up. I...' he trailed off, losing steam; Kyo was staring at him and his expression was completely neutral, but his eyes were warm and soft and intimate. It was those eyes that distracted him, and that forced him to trip over his words and change direction: 'Can I sit in here with you?'

Kyo blinked at him. 'Always.'

'Thanks,' Ruki said, feeling strangely breathless, and he thought he caught the shadow of a smile passing over Kyo's face. The older man settled himself on his bed in his familiar way – his shoulders braced against the wall and his weight resting on his lower back, his legs bent at the knee before him and slightly spread. He pulled his notebook into his lap and jumped only very slightly as Ruki sat down on the bed next to him. He gave the back of his neck an uncomfortable rub and then extended an arm towards the younger man, his face hesitant.

'Do you want to...come here?'

Ruki's lips twitched a little. 'Yeah.'

'Don't laugh,' Kyo warned, but the corners of his mouth were turning up, too.

It wasn't all right, Ruki thought, moving carefully towards Kyo and nestling in under that outstretched arm, feeling it curl cautiously around him; nothing was okay. Kai dead; Uruha, Aoi and Die all, in their own ways, dying too.

Die starving.

Aoi burning.

Uruha drowning.

He slid an arm around Kyo's hard belly and glanced up at his face, wondering how he did it: wondering how he stayed so determinedly alive after all these years. The older man rested his cheek briefly against the top of Ruki's head and then opened his notebook, smoothing the page down before he started to write. Up this close, Ruki could see that he held his pen kind of awkwardly, his angular fingers crooked around it like a bolt around a screw; he wrote quickly, a small frown of concentration on his face.

Bit by bit, Ruki felt his body relax. His arm softened around Ruki's back. Gradually, the movements of his pen slowed to a stop.

'Do you regret what we did?' he asked in a low voice.

What it really came down to, Ruki thought, was anger – turning your sadness into anger. That was how you lived; how you stayed alive. There was nothing Kyo had to live for except for his rage; a terrible, terrible rage to survive. Whilst he still had that he would always be here; sane, and whole.

'No,' Ruki answered. 'Do you?'

'No.'

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

As the morning stretched on, the day grew greyer and duller. Ruki spent it with his head in Kyo's lap, feeling the other man stroking his hair every now and again, and he closed his eyes tiredly even though his body felt too tense with anticipation to sleep. They could all feel it; the storm coming. He was wise enough, by now, to know that this was simply the calm before it.

It was as peaceful as it could have been, though; Kyo's hand in his hair, the sound of the other man's heartbeat in his ears, steady and strong. He felt pleasantly surrounded by the smell of him; the same scent he seemed to catch hints of in his dreams sometimes, he realised.

He thought about how wonderful it would be to just go outside and take a walk with him now; how much he'd taken that for granted before. He thought about sitting on top of that hill with Kyo in the pouring rain, the umbrella abandoned, and the high fast note to Kyo's breathing when they sat so close together; the wiry tenseness of his muscles.

 _I don't dislike being touched_.

He wondered how long you had to go without affection to end up so unfamiliar; so almost scared of it. He _had_ wondered that, but now he looked up at Kyo's face and wondered if it wasn't the touch he was necessarily afraid of but how he was supposed to respond to it; how much he was allowed to do before he'd be screamed at, dragged away, treated like a monster.

He shifted slightly in the older man's lap, his cheek brushing the slight swell of his soft cock between his legs, and felt Kyo's hand still in his hair.

He thought about how that hand had felt on him and wondered what it would be like to take Kyo outside again; to lie down with him in the grass.

 

Lunch was at midday as usual, but it was a quiet meal; with Kai missing from the table and Die so wan and quiet their gathering looked poor. Uruha showed up a few minutes late, saying goodbye to his father in the doorway before sitting down at the table. Aoi kept trying to catch his eye – Ruki could see the little twitches of his head as he kept glancing up at his friend – but Uruha was utterly unresponsive throughout the meal, knocking his fist against the side of his head distractedly. Shinya was taken out of the isolation room and slotted in amongst them, but he was lost in a kind of twilight sleep; he kept his eyes fixed on the table and sagged passively against the wooden back of his chair as an impatient orderly spooned rice porridge between his lips.

Nobody ate very much.

After the meal Shinya was placed in an armchair in the TV room, facing towards but not seeing a programme about the mating habits of salmon; he gazed in an unfocussed sort of way down at his own lap, his hands slipping off the arms of the chair. Uruha was out of his seat before all the plates were even cleared; he strode quickly out of the room, ignoring the way Aoi hastily jerked his chair out to follow him, and even from the dining room Ruki heard his bedroom door slam in Aoi's face.

Die eased himself up, his face an odd greyish colour. He coughed once, roughly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; Ruki saw a smear of red there and made some small noise of alarm.

Die turned his eyes towards the floor, looking ashamed.

'It's just a cough,' he mumbled, his breathing a strange shallow wheeze above his words, 'My throat's raw.'

'Die—'

Die shook his head. 'Let's put on a record.'

It was shocking how evident the curve of his spine was as he walked away, supporting himself with one hand against the wall. From the corridor Ruki could hear the sound of Aoi knocking on Uruha's door, softly begging to be let in, and he closed his eyes tightly.

It was just for a brief moment, but he felt Kyo's hand brush warmly against his arm. When he opened his eyes he found the other man looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face; carefully he fitted his palm to the curve of Ruki's hip, a more deliberate touch. It was quick, but Ruki found himself leaning into it, wondering what the hell had to be wrong with him for his body to be responding to Kyo's touch when the whole world felt like it was falling down around them.

'Let's go,' he said uncertainly. He wasn't really sure where or what he was referring to, not then, but Kyo seemed to understand: he gave him a single nod. Quietly, they walked into the hallway together.

 

'Uruha. Uru, please.'

Ruki bit his lip; Aoi was in the middle of the corridor, still knocking on the other man's door; his face was set grimly but his voice incongruously gentle as he spoke, 'I'm not going to go anywhere, Uruha. Please open the door. Uruha. Uruha. Uruha, _please_.'

His knocking grew louder, less rhythmic, 'Uruha, _please_ —' and he flinched backwards violently as the door was slammed open, almost catching him full in the face; Uruha stood in the empty door frame, his eyes red-rimmed and his fists clenched, his legs braced, his face a mask of helpless anger.

'Leave me alone,' he said in a tense voice, louder than he usually spoke. His face was paler than normal, Ruki noticed, and several of his fingernails were bleeding.

'Uruha,' Aoi said in a pleading sort of voice, making a small movement forward and then ducking abruptly as Uruha yanked a book from the shelf by the door and flung it at him.

'Leave me _alone_ , I said! I don't want to talk to you!'

The book bounced harmlessly off the wall, _The Local's Guide to South Korea_ , and suddenly Ruki understood who Uruha was so angry at. In the middle of the hallway, he clutched at a handful of Kyo's clothing. From the music room, looking exhausted but alert, Die appeared and hovered helplessly by the wall.

It felt like a showdown, Ruki thought sickly; that's why they were all here. Whatever strange force seemed to keep them together had called them to this point, and the feeling was so strong and so oddly tangible that he wouldn't have been surprised to see Kai walk down the hallway and take his place next to them, his smiling face for once clouded with confusion and doubt: _why is everybody so unhappy?_

'Uruha,' Aoi said softly and another book flew; _The Local's Guide to Thailand_ clipped him in the cheek and he staggered back slightly, eyes watering, one hand pressed to the side of his jaw.

'Go _away_.'

 

The next moment, everything changed. Uruha pulled another book from the shelf and Aoi reflexively ducked back, but instead of hurling it at him Uruha threw it roughly to the floor. A strange sort of sound escaped his throat and his face seemed to simply break apart, its angry expression slipping, and Ruki watched with wide eyes as Uruha stamped on the book he'd just thrown down. His eyes were wild as he shoved the remainder of the books from his shelf, ruining their neat arrangement; pages fluttered and spines were crushed as he stamped on them, kicked out at them, his breath coming out in short harsh sobs, and with a grim expression Aoi stepped forward and tried to stop him, but Uruha ripped himself away. He was gasping for breath.

'Get off me,' he spat, his eyes huge and full of tears, 'My dad was right about you. You're trash. You're nothing. You're _bad_. You— you're a predator. You hurt. You _hurt_ —'

'Watch for nurses,' Aoi muttered over his shoulder at the men assembled behind him, and Ruki saw it just from the corner of his eye as Kyo gave Aoi a brief, silent nod and peeled away, padding back down the corridor towards the dining room.

Uruha was crying. He didn't make any noise but his face was wet with tears, and when Aoi tried to move forward he gave him a violent shove.

'You're _bad_ ,' he said again, his voice fraught, his teeth gritted viciously and his breath shaking over the top of his hissed words, 'You're _nothing_. The – the men you want don't even _want_ you. Your _parents_ don't even want you,' he said, his voice rising unsteadily, 'Your own father doesn't care about you and you hate my dad because he _loves_ me, and my _mother_ loves me, and nobody wants you, nobody _ever_ wants you but you _touch_ them, you _touch_ them, and it _hurts_ —!'

When Aoi darted forwards Ruki thought for a terrifying moment that he was going to hit him, but instead he just grabbed him. In the doorway of his bedroom he wrapped his arms tight around his friend's body, pinning his upper arms down to his sides; there was a terrible struggle and the hairs on the back of Ruki's neck stood up as Uruha gave a choked cry, wrestling wildly. He drew in a breath, his hand fisted and pulling in Aoi's hair, but something strange happened to the air; it broke inside him, seemed to tear him up so that he sagged, and whatever yell was in his throat came splintering out of him as a sob. His face fell against Aoi's shoulder; his poor bleeding hands clutched at his back.

'He touches me,' he whispered, his voice muffled against Aoi's clothes, and Aoi lowered his face against Uruha's bent head.

'I know,' he said quietly, his own eyes wet; he relaxed his tight grip and began to stroke Uruha's back gently.

'He – he's done it ever since I was twelve and – he makes me _do_ things – and I _hate_ it, I _hate_ it.'

'I'm so sorry, Uru.'

'I hate him,' Uruha whispered rawly, his hands making fists in the back of Aoi's shirt, 'I hate him. I hate him.'

Carefully, Aoi stroked his hair.

There was a light sound of footsteps coming towards them along the corridor as, moving quickly, Kyo reappeared; he shot Aoi a warning look and the dark-haired man nodded. He reached back, grabbed Die's hand and carefully steered Uruha back into his bedroom, guiding him over the mess of trampled books with Die tailing them like a puppy on a lead. He sent Ruki a quick apologetic look before shutting the door behind them, but there was no need: Ruki figured that was the way it was meant to be, the three of them like that. Kyo bent to pick up the two books on the floor out in the hallway, and he pressed them casually between his back and the wall as one of the orderlies walked by with a spare light bulb in his hand.

 

The two of them stood uncomfortably in the corridor, and Kyo did something like a shrug. His face was curiously empty, a blank mask, and it made Ruki feel uncertain.

He felt a kind of trembling weakness throughout his whole body, and he thought about Kyo and Uruha and wondered if it was any surprise at all that the two of them had ended up where they were. They'd never had a chance.

Kyo's words seemed to thud oppressively inside his skull: _I was born dead_.

He thought about Shinya, living his life with that ticking time bomb inside his mind, just waiting to go off and shatter him to pieces all over again; he thought of Die, having a happy normal childhood until something flipped the switch inside of him that made him so broken; altered one of the circuits so it didn't work; a sort of emotional mutation.

Born dead.

He thought of himself, of Eiji, of his own parents. They were both so normal that he should have been normal twice over, but somebody had changed the mould so that he didn't fit.

Ruki noticed that Kyo was watching him, and though he tried to smile he felt his face lapse into a helpless kind of expression. He wanted to reach out for him, but he didn't know what was allowed and what wasn't; not when Kyo looked so far away.

Wouldn't everybody in the whole world feel like a sham, if you'd grown up the way he had?

Eiji's painting seemed to float up in the forefront of his mind: the one that was him and wasn't him. Slowly, turning them over in his mind, he thought about every other portrait Eiji had ever painted of him and kept unexhibited; the lewd ones, the ones of him sleeping, the ones of him working. None of them had been quite right, he realised. Sleeping, he knew he wasn't that serene; he tossed and turned and pulled at the covers, talked in his sleep and had nightmares. Working, he had that grimness; that bright, powerful fierceness. On his knees in front of Eiji, he knew he had never in his life worn such a look of bland complicity, or such simple desire. There had been times when he had been so full of lust he could feel himself burning up with it, but there had never been anything _simple_ about it. In those days, everything had seemed to blend in together, and every emotion was second-guessed, and every single facial expression and sound was double-checked for worrying undertones, for ugliness; for anything that could have been objected to.

All that time, Eiji had been painting a person that didn't exist. It was so obvious that Ruki wanted to shout it in his face; he wanted to show him all the notes he'd taken from Eiji's lectures, where he'd preached about painting what you see and mastering the art of expressing truth in creative ways; he wanted to shove all in front of him and spit at him that he was an old fraud after all.

'Kyo,' he said hesitantly, and watched the other man's eyes pull back into focus. It took a while, struggling down blind alleys, but they found him; they locked onto him, saw him as he was.

'Yes,' he said hoarsely.

'I want to draw you.'

 

They went to Ruki's room. The whole ward had an oppressive and pervasive air of quiet, but in there it was better; he opened his window despite the cold and they could at least then hear birds outside, and the occasional gust of wind.

Awkwardly, Kyo sat himself down on Kai's old bed, hands braced against the bare frame as if testing it for softness. He didn't seem to know what to do with his body, and he lit a cigarette and gave Ruki a slightly furtive look.

'What do you want me to do?' he asked in his gruff voice.

Settling on his own bed, cross-legged with his paper in a stack in front of him, Ruki lit up a cigarette of his own. As he arranged his supplies he took a puff and let the smoke come furling out through his nose, which Eiji had hated.

_You know what you look like when you do that? You look completely common. It's disgusting._

He smiled.

'Just...' he took his cigarette out of his mouth and gestured with it, 'Just relax. Sit like you'd be sitting if I wasn't drawing you.'

'I have no idea how that is,' Kyo said, and despite how shaken he still felt, Ruki's grinned.

'You don't know how to relax?'

'Never done it,' Kyo said drily, and Ruki tapped ash from his cigarette. He'd meant to get it on the floor but he misjudged the difference and it spilled over the knee of his jeans, where he rubbed it in uncaringly. He glanced up and found Kyo's face had softened slightly into a wry smile: 'Disgusting,' he said teasingly. His voice was almost fond, and Ruki felt himself warm a little, opening himself out towards the older man like a flower.

Carefully, as if Kyo was a stray animal he was trying not to alarm, he picked up his pencil. The older man still looked frozen and awkward, but he was thawing; the more Ruki talked, the more he thawed. Ruki licked his lips.

 

'When I was at art school,' he said, 'We had to do life drawing.'

'“Life drawing?”'

'Naked people,' Ruki explained, and Kyo raised an eyebrow. Unconsciously, the tense line of his shoulders seemed to have softened.

'Is that what you're expecting?' he asked, a little sarcastically, and Ruki ducked his head to hide his smile and the little spark that seemed to have fizzed through him.

'Maybe next time.'

'There's going to be a next time?'

'That depends.' He tapped his pencil against the paper idly; took another drag from his cigarette without taking it out of his mouth. 'They used to split up an hour session into a few different drawings. First you'd do a five minute drawing, then three minutes, then one minute, then five minutes again.'

'What's the point of that?'

'So you can see what's important. The first five minute drawing is a mess; you don't have a lot of time to get everything down, so you're trying to put down as many lines as quickly as you can. Then, the three minute drawing, you knew you'd have to be more selective, and the one minute drawing, you just got shapes. So, you see the shapes then, you see? The real ones.'

So lightly Kyo might not even have noticed, he placed the tip of his pencil on his paper and drew one crooked, angular line; the side of his torso, draped in that too-big, sanatorium-issue white T-shirt. He wondered how it would feel to know that not even the clothes on your back were your own.

'Once you have those basic shapes – the important bits...' he paused, frowning slightly as he concentrated, blinking the hair out of his eyes and exhaling smoke, 'Your next five minute drawing is a thousand times better. Because you've tricked yourself into seeing things better.'

'So how are you supposed to see things?'

'Not like it's a human,' Ruki answered simply. Another brutal, jagged line; the other side of his torso. The cotton was thin and he smiled a little as he drew the darker shape of a nipple he could see through it. A zigzag of collarbone. 'If you're trying to draw something and thinking _it's a person, I'm drawing a person_ , you won't do it right. Same with anything. You have to _look_ at it; really look at it. You have to ask yourself just what something looks like; not what it is, or anything else.'

The hollow of a throat, the shadow where the pulse flickered, a sharp jaw. 'At least, that's what works for me.'

He pulled his pencil back from the paper uncertainly, scrutinising what he'd already done. He closed one eye and looked at Kyo, using the length of his pencil to measure the rough proportions of him; face here, body here, shoulders here. He screwed up his top sheet of paper and started over on the next page, smoothly, not breaking his momentum.

'Did you like life drawing?'

Ruki shrugged, eyeing Kyo quickly before he began to draw again. He drew a few lines, scrapped it quickly, and turned to a fresh page.

'It was okay. I was never all that interested in drawing people, though.'

'I can tell,' Kyo said, deadpan, and Ruki looked up at him a little shyly.

'I just couldn't find the beauty in it. Or, it was too obvious. Something like that.'

'You think drawing me will really help with that?'

Ruki smiled, and he thought he could make some witty or sarcastic response, but looking at Kyo, it sort of died on his lips.

The thing was, he had relaxed, and it was beautiful. Back straight, arms loose.

The pulse in his neck slow, glorious; lips a little parted; legs a little open.

Eyes soft, hair ruffled like it always was, and Ruki began to draw as quickly as he could: the lines of him, the shapes of him, standing out through his clothes; chest, belly, heart, lungs, worn on the outside like jewellery; knees, thighs, bones, skin; the most naked person with clothes on Ruki had ever seen.

His own heart was in his mouth, he realised.

The blue of his veins visible in his wrists, in the crooks of his elbows; the angles of his bones through his skin, rib to elbow to spine; the way the muscles sat; the way the tendons pulled; his whole body a drawing, a blueprint. It was like a map.

And he couldn't avoid them, because all routes led there: the eyes he gazed into. The lips he had kissed.

 


	31. Chapter 31

That afternoon, the ward stayed silent until dinner.

The staff seemed perturbed, and they showed it. Ruki's door kept squeaking open as one or another nurse popped her head around to check in on them, and in the end Kyo simply got up and pushed the door wide, so they were completely exposed to anybody walking by in the hall. After all, it wasn't as though they were doing anything wrong; Kyo was just sitting, Ruki just drawing.

Dinner that night was some kind of grilled fish with rice and greens, and Ruki watched as Uruha started to dissect his, placing the bones in neat tallies on the edge of his tray, and as Die took a deep breath, struggling against his cough. Aoi hung between the two of them, looking tired but alert; he didn't eat much himself, Ruki noticed. The time oozed by slowly, like molasses.

At the end of the meal, by the time the tea had been poured but the plates not yet taken, there was a sort of shuffling amongst the nurses, a kind of birdlike dipping of heads and ruffling of feathers, and the head nurse walked to stand behind Kai's empty chair. Later, Ruki would wonder if she had planned it like that. If she had, he couldn't see why.

She pressed her fingers lightly against the back of the chair as if considering it, and then lifted her head to face them all. They couldn't have been a very encouraging audience; from left to right Uruha was muttering to himself, Aoi was rubbing his temples, Die was rocked back in his chair looking queasy, Kyo was studying the dark square of sky visible through the window, Shinya's mouth was being wiped by an orderly, and Ruki was restlessly drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

Ruki and Die gave each other self-conscious looks, as if realising for the first time that they might be coming across as crazy. Nobody else seemed to care.

 

'Gentlemen,' the nurse said in her level, practical voice, adjusting her frameless glasses on her face, 'I'm sure you must have been expecting this. I'm very pleased to announce that tomorrow, we'll have a new patient joining our therapeutic community. Ruki, he'll be your new roommate.'

There was a stunned sort of silence that made it very clear that no, they _hadn't_ been expecting this. The only one who moved was Shinya, absently trying to brush the hand away from his face.

'Couldn't you at least let his bed get cold first?' Aoi said at last, acidly. The head nurse fixed him with her calm, neutral stare. Ruki wondered how she kept her face so still.

'I know it's difficult,' she said. 'These past few days have been very difficult for you all. I would urge you, though, to try to find the positives where you can. This is a new opportunity to get to know somebody; for us, a new opportunity to help somebody.'

'Like you helped Kai?'

There was an ugly quiet after Aoi said his name, and nobody moved except Uruha, rocking slightly and touching his chin to his right shoulder, twelve times, and then his left shoulder another twelve times. Even Shinya seemed to have gathered something was going on; he gazed placidly at the nurse.

'I understand,' she said finally in a quieter voice, 'That some of you will have feelings of anger and blame about Kai's death. These are natural. I would urge you to take comfort in your group and individual therapy sessions, and to discuss these feelings rationally with our staff at the appropriate time.'

Anybody else, Ruki thought, would have winced under the full force of Aoi's glower, but the nurse simply gave her bun of black hair a reassuring pat, as if checking it was still there.

'Our new patient,' she went on, 'Will be arriving tomorrow morning, and I would ask you all to make him feel welcome. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of your own first days here, and how intimidating it can feel when you aren't welcomed warmly.'

Her eyes seemed to flick from Aoi to Kyo when she said that, which felt unfair to Ruki; Kyo might not have welcomed people warmly, but only because he tended not to welcome them at all. Thinking back, he knew he had found the other man's manner disconcerting at the time, but now it felt different. Knowing Kyo, he thought the reason he maybe didn't go out of his way to be friendly with people might be because he felt he didn't deserve friends.

Kyo's face was impassive; it didn't seem to bother him, but it made Ruki's chest hurt. He wondered how it must feel to be badly thought of all the time, and misunderstood and misinterpreted all the time – to be considered weird and different even in a place for weird and different people; to be feared. To be thought of as evil, even.

Kyo probably didn't know why Ruki gave him such a sweet smile.

 

Uninterested as they all tried to act, the wait for the new person began very early the next morning.

It started subtly – just one person happening to look a little longer out of the window as they walked past it, and a lack of chatter during breakfast. By nine, Die had taken the step of dragging an armchair up next to the front-facing window in the music room, and Aoi was perched cross-legged on top of the piano, looking out at the same view. Uruha was sitting on one of the arm chairs, his feet curled up beneath him as he tried to write something; he frowned often and scratched out words, and balls of crumpled paper started to litter the floor at his feet.

Ruki hadn't wanted to wait with them, but there was an almost irresistible drag. In the sanatorium, where time passed so slowly, he hadn't appreciated what a powerful thing it was to have an event on the horizon – something more solid than the eventual release day, which shifted its shape and changed its nature all the time.

At half past nine Aoi went off for therapy; at ten, Die went. Uruha took up their abandoned post by the window, thumbing at his lower lip, but when Aoi arrived back just before eleven there was still no change. Every time a car pulled up they would all tense slightly, but no sad creature folded itself out of the back seat; it was always one or another doctor, or a family come to visit the patients on other, luckier wards.

At a quarter past eleven, though, there was a sort of shift and click: an adjusting of focus. No announcement had been made or car had been spotted, but they all gathered up around the windows even so, and Ruki was reminded of his first look up at the sanatorium – all the faces he had seen, pressed up against the bars on the windows like monkeys gaping out from a zoo.

Die got back from therapy at around half past eleven, and not long after that, a police car was spotted coming up the long, winding drive. Aoi sent Ruki a wicked look.

'You've got a _criminal_ ,' he said. 'Whoops. Hope he's not a murderer.'

'Yeah, sweet dreams,' Die added. He lowered himself into a chair, and Ruki noticed that his legs seemed to be shaking slightly beneath him, and that although he was grinning his face was pale and clammy. Wordlessly, Aoi placed a hand on his bony shoulder, but Die just gave his head a short shake.

Together they watched as two police officers, a man and a woman, climbed out of the car into the drizzling rain. The man adjusted his hat whilst the woman went to the back and opened a door, and together they removed what looked like a grey ghost from the back seat, except on closer inspection it was a man so fully wrapped in a blanket that only the top of his head and the lower part of his legs were visible.

Die slid Ruki a look, as if to say, _good luck_.

 

Forty minutes later, they all sat down to lunch in a state of great confusion.

It wasn't as though the man in the blanket hadn't been admitted – he had – but instead of being shown into Ruki's bedroom and suffering through the speech where they outlined all the rules, like about signing yourself in and out of the bathroom and not wandering around after lights out and having to ask for a razor if you wanted to shave, he'd instead been hustled straight past them and into the isolation room. The weird thing wasn't just that he'd been put in there at all, it was also that he hadn't been put in the straitjacket – even not knowing him, Ruki felt himself inwardly breathing a sigh of relief – and that the nurse with the perm had done his unpacking for him, but instead of putting all of his clothes into the drawers, she'd kept on running back and forth to the isolation room with supplies: clean clothes, towels, a bucket, some books. It was as though he was going to be living in there, in that tiny padded room about the size of a mattress. They'd even turned a dim light on in there; Ruki hadn't even known there was a light. He wondered what it looked like all lit up; if it still looked as endless and terrifying and void-like as it did in the dark. Probably not.

His name, apparently, was Hara. They'd gathered this when they were sitting around the lunch table and pumping the nurse for information; just like old times, Ruki thought almost fondly, with everybody talking at once. She'd not said much, but the brief statement she had made had given them enough to discuss and pick apart: 'There's been a slight miscommunication. Hara is not quite ready to integrate into our therapeutic community yet. He'll be in the isolation room for now, but we'll probably be able to make some space for him upstairs tomorrow. He'll stay there a week or so before he moves down to our ward.'

The reaction to that reminded Ruki forcibly of his old chemistry lessons in school, where the teacher had used some tongs to place a thin ribbon of sodium metal in some water and – whoosh – like magic it had started fizzing and sparking and zipping around the beaker: a great wave of babble rose all at once and cutting through it all was Aoi's opinionated, obnoxious drawl: 'But upstairs is the _disturbed_ ward.'

Ruki pushed his lunch tray away. 'Disturbed?'

'Yeah,' Aoi said, sounding almost impressed. 'Down here we're, you know, manageable. Right? We're not no-hopers, apart from—' he glanced down at Shinya and Kyo's end of the table and cut himself off, looking uncharacteristically flustered, 'Well, anyway – upstairs is where they put you when you're really bad; there's restraints on the bed and stuff.' He drew up short, again giving Kyo a funny little look, and added lamely, 'Aren't there?'

Every eye swivelled to Kyo, who was taking a long drag of his cigarette. He raised his eyebrows and exhaled the smoke.

'Yes,' he said shortly.

'How do you know?' asked Die interestedly, and Kyo frowned down at the table.

'I used to be on disturbed,' he said hoarsely, 'At first. Then I was moved down here.'

'Oh.' Die ran a hand through his hair awkwardly; his fingers came away snared in bright red tangles.

'So the next person we get might be as crazy as Kyo,' said a quiet, low voice, and like a great spotlight turning every eye swivelled off of Kyo and landed firmly on Shinya, who was looking down at his food in a mild sort of way.

'Shinya,' Aoi said, 'Was that a _joke_?'

Shinya gave a modest sort of shrug.

'You haven't made a joke in about five years.'

'It's more like eight years, actually.'

' _And_ another,' Die said, his voice sounding only slightly strained. 'Got any more?' he tried, but his voice broke into a cough on the last word; he doubled over, his knuckles standing out white where he gripped the edge of the table, and Aoi rubbed his back. It was weird, the expression that came over Aoi's face then: he looked a lot older, Ruki thought. And a lot wearier.

 

The rain came on quickly that night, starting with a soft hiss and graduating into a thunder against the windows and a constant drip and crackle from the eaves of the building. There was no wind, and it fell in an unusually straight sort of way, so you couldn't exactly tell if it was going up or down or even anywhere at all: it looked like steel cables keeping the earth fastened to the heavy dark sky.

Ruki watched it from the window in the music room, feeling vaguely unsettled. For the first time, he wondered what Eiji had written in his letter.

Maybe he was sorry about everything.

When he looked down at the drive, his mind kept fooling itself into thinking that he was seeing the blanket-wrapped man staggering forward again. He shook his head hard, so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the way the gentle babble of voices in the room around him was changing, thinning out and growing tenser, and louder. He snapped to attention when somebody made a shouting sort of noise, and he turned to see Die frozen halfway out of a chair, Aoi standing with his legs braced directly in front of him.

'Don't you dare,' he was saying seriously, his face hard. Leaning down, he gave his friend a push, shoving him back down into his seat, 'I know where you're going, and you can forget about it.'

'Aoi,' Die said tiredly, 'I'm just going to bed, okay? I don't feel great.'

'Bullshit,' Aoi said artlessly.

'Give it a rest, Aoi. Who cares where I'm going? I have to piss, come on.'

He was keeping his voice neutral, but there was a grim sort of set to his jaw, and his eyes weren't smiling like they normally were when he and Aoi were joking around. He gave a lame sort of push to the hand on his shoulder, and when Aoi didn't budge, he gave it a harder one.

'Let me up,' he said, his voice a little edgier, and very deliberately Aoi tossed some hair back from his face.

 

'Fight me off,' he said simply. 'If you're well enough to go puke your guts out in the bathroom, you've surely got enough strength to fight me off, right? You're taller than me. It should be pretty easy.'

'Aoi.'

'Come on. I'll give you first hit. Come on, Die; shove me. Hit me. Kick me or something.'

Grudgingly, Die did attempt a kick at his shins, but Aoi was standing too close for him to get much momentum behind it; the dark-haired man didn't even flinch. 'You'll have to do better than that,' he said matter-of-factly, 'Or you're never gonna be able to throw up. Then all those calories you managed to choke down are going to start doing all those things they do, like burning themselves to stop you from sh-sh- _shivering_ all the time, and giving your muscles fuel so they can actually move, muscles like your fucking _heart_ and your _diaphragm_ and all the shit that you need to _live_ —'

'Piss off,' Die said mutinously, 'I'm not fucking around tonight.'

'Yeah? Neither am I.' Aoi leaned closer, placing one bent knee on the chair beside Die's thigh and making a cage out of his body. With his hands gripping to the back of the armchair and his legs on either side of Die's the two of them weren't actually touching, but there was something unmistakeably sexual about the position; Die seemed to get flustered, and his weak hands attempted to push at Aoi's knees.

'What's the matter?' Aoi taunted, and Ruki realised that he could hear him even though he was speaking softly; nobody else was talking and the record on the player had been allowed to run down to its soft, crackly hiss. He watched Die attempt to wriggle out of Aoi's trap and had a sudden, sad impression of the two of them on the night of Kai's funeral; Aoi crying in that horribly raw, vulnerable way and the way that Die had gathered him up – simply swept all his messy limbs up together and hugged onto him tightly, as if it could change anything.

'Get off me,' Die said now, his eyes dark; there was something in them that Ruki thought looked like panic, and his efforts to get Aoi to move were growing more frantic, 'Get off me, Aoi. Let me up.'

'Fight me off,' the other man hissed, his face only an inch or two from Die's, 'Come on, if you're so tough you can afford to lose more strength; push me off. Come on, I'll make it easier; look, I'm only holding on with one hand.' He waved the other in front of Die's face in a mocking way and Die swiped at it, knocking it out of the air forcefully.

'Bet you'd like that,' he said from between gritted teeth, 'Sitting on me like this, you dirty fucking _homo_.'

If Aoi was surprised, he didn't show it; he laughed lowly, the sound sending a weird shiver up Ruki's back. He noticed that Uruha's face looked completely fraught; if he'd been holding something more fragile than a book it would have snapped in his white-knuckled grip.

'You didn't use to mind,' Aoi said in a deadly quiet voice, something strangely snakelike about the soft sway of his head and the way he kept his eyes fixed on Die's, 'I wasn't so fucking dirty when I was sucking you off, was I?'

Die's face seemed to go almost as red as his hair, and he glanced around at the other men in the room furtively.

'That hasn't happened in months,' he muttered, his voice almost apologetic.

'No, it hasn't. And you know why not, don't you?'

'Aoi—'

'It's because you can't get hard, can you? Not any more. How about _that_ ; you don't even have the strength to jerk off. Do you even have a sex drive, any more? Is there _anything_ in your fucking, _fucking_ stupid head apart from _calories_ , and _fat_ , and—'

'Shut up!' Die snapped, his efforts doubling; Aoi slipped back dangerously but just about managed to keep his balance, 'If you – if you don't let me up, I'll tell them. I'll tell them all about it, and then they'll never let you leave.'

For the first time, Aoi looked rattled. 'I beg your pardon?' he asked in a poisonous hiss.

'You heard,' Die said breathlessly; he started to cough, roughly, and shoved Aoi's hand away when it went to him in concern, 'I saw – I saw your notes. The essay you're writing all about how you're _better_ , and you don't think about men that way any – any more—' he broke off, coughing violently; when he next spoke there was a horribly pink foam around his teeth, 'And how you're ready to rejoin society and live a normal life – well, I'll tell them. And they'll never let you out.'

Aoi looked disconcerted; he swallowed audibly.

But he tightened his grip on the back of the armchair.

'Fine,' he said, 'They'll never let me out. So I'll always be here to keep you from chucking up your meals. Great _plan_ , Die.'

'Fuck you,' Die said, his eyes shining suspiciously. His fingernails were digging into the arms of the chair tensely, and as Ruki watched Die tensed his jaw.

'I tried to warn you,' he said in a low, tight voice. 'This is all your fault.'

His hand shot suddenly up towards his mouth, two fingers slipping between his own lips, and Aoi gave an inarticulate cry of horror as Die started forcing them back, hitting them against the back of his throat harshly; Aoi tugged on his hand, his fingernails scrabbling uselessly at Die's knuckles. There was a horrible retching noise, and Aoi gave a yelp as Die threw up his undigested dinner over their two hands and his own lap.

There was a very nasty silence. Ruki realised that he'd been holding his breath so long his head was spinning; he breathed in dizzily.

Stunned, Aoi let go, and Die wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. There was a look on his face that Ruki thought he might never forget as long as he lived; all the self-righteous anger was gone, and in its place was a deep and terrible shame, making him drop his eyes and lower his head. Slowly, shakily, Aoi got back to his feet and stood up straight, his vomit-spattered hand held away from his body.

'Don't even think,' he said deliberately, 'About sleeping in the same room as me tonight.' He paused, biting at his lip briefly but violently, 'I've had it. You want to die, go ahead and die.'

He swallowed heavily. 'I give up.'

 

The quiet that he left behind him seemed almost to ring. They heard Aoi as he slammed his way down the corridor and into the bathroom, and the heard the gurgle of the pipes in the walls when he evidently cranked on the shower.

Twitchily, Uruha got to his feet. He tugged hard on a handful of his hair, twelve times on the left side of his head and then twelve times on the right, and then he stood uncomfortably in front of Die in roughly the same stance as Aoi, bent over him. On Uruha it looked all wrong.

'You can sleep in my room,' he muttered, 'If you want.' He paused and then called, much louder, ' _Nurse_.'

Grimacing slightly, he grabbed Die's soiled hand and wiped it down the front of his own T-shirt. There was a squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the polished floor, and a white uniform slotted itself neatly around the door.

'Did somebody call? Oh, _Uruha_...'

'Sorry,' Uruha said, his voice passably weak-sounding, 'I guess I must be ill. I just threw up all over him.'

'Oh, dear. Oh dear, boys – well, you'd better get cleaned off. Come along. Uruha, do you still feel sick?'

Uruha's eyes seemed to collide with Die's; even from across the room, Ruki flinched at the impact.

'A little bit,' he murmured.

'Come along, then. A nice shower, and then straight to bed, all right?'

Ruki wondered why she didn't seem to see it; the way every tendon in Die's arm stood out lividly as he worked to get himself out of his seat; the way he rocked dizzily when he did so; the way the remaining colour drained out of his face. He took a step forward and tottered, but the nurse was busy fussing over Uruha.

There was nobody else to catch him – Shinya was gazing raptly at the insides of his own wrists, apparently monitoring his own pulse – and so Ruki placed a gentle hand on Die's back, steadying him somewhat. He felt ribs moving under skin, and Die nodded at him. 'Thanks,' he said and coughed harshly, wheezing, and Ruki saw tears glittering on his cheeks.

He was left alone in the room with Shinya, who was still studying his own blue veins intently, and it was weird how much it felt like his first day.

A vision of Eiji's letter, whole and new again, seemed to dance in the front of his mind.

He was so homesick he could die.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, with all that's going on recently, I wouldn't expect this to be updated quite so regularly! So sorry. My boyfriend and I are currently trying to relocate to a different city and it's...stressful.  
> On the other side: since this is all wonderfully anon, I can tell you what I accidentally found out...my boyfriend has designed and ordered an engagement ring! YIKES. I'm in love.


	32. Chapter 32

It rained hard the entire day.

Ruki sat on the chair in Sato's office, his elbows propped uncomfortably on the overstuffed arms and a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, staring out of the window. Every so often there would be a flash of lightning on the horizon and, a moment or two later, an answering rumble of thunder. The sky was so dark that all the lights were on, and the room looked small and yellowish.

'It's been a difficult week,' the doctor said, and Ruki didn't bother to dignify that with a response. He took a long pull on his cigarette and let the smoke furl out of his nose and mouth.

'I'd like to talk about Kai, if you don't mind. I know it's a painful topic, but I'd like to know what your primary feelings towards him are.' Sato paused. 'Towards him, not about him. There is a difference. I'd like to know what you would say to him if he was sitting here in front of you.'

'I'd say _oh shit, a ghost_ ,' Ruki said sarcastically, and Sato managed to refrain from sighing.

'Do you feel sadly towards him? Angry?'

'Sad, I suppose,' Ruki said grudgingly, 'And – guilty.'

'Guilty, hm. What's behind the guilt, then?'

Ruki shrugged loosely. 'I didn't guess what he was going to do,' he said in a monotone, 'I didn't wake up while he was doing it. I didn't save him. And...'

'And?' Sato prompted, and Ruki looked down at his cigarette thoughtfully.

'We both tried it,' he mumbled, 'The same thing. But only he succeeded.'

Sato was quiet for a moment whilst Ruki picked at the skin around his thumbnail. The rain was streaming down the window so thickly that everything outside seemed blurred and unreal, like the whole world had become an abstract painting. Inside, the lines seemed unsettlingly solid.

'Guilt is natural,' Sato said finally, 'Though not deserved, in this case, of course.'

'But I...'

' _You_ didn't do anything,' Sato interrupted him frankly. ' _He_ did. He did it. Not you.'

'But it's not fair.'

'No, of course it's not fair.' He paused, rubbing at his upper lip, 'Do you remember the conversation we had about society; how society is really just a short name for a set of rules that everybody has to follow?'

Ruki gave a flinch-like nod.

'Well, this is one of those rules, I suppose – perhaps the most important one – that life isn't fair. Of course it's reasonable to try to make life as fair as possible, and to open yourself up to changes that make life fairer, but on the whole it's one of the rules of society that we have to accept: life isn't fair. And it will never be fair.'

'So what's the point?'

'Of society?'

'Of life.'

Sato shrugged. 'You tell me.'

'But I don't know.'

'But you must have found some kind of point, Ruki. Do you realise how much you've improved, over the past few months? Do you realise how much healthier your behaviour patterns have been? How well you're coping with Kai's death?' Sato leaned back in his chair, regarding him almost with disappointment, 'No, it seems like you don't. And that's fair enough. It isn't _easy_ to become well, Ruki, but it comes down to two things: treatment, and will. You have the treatment, and now I think you have the will, as well.'

Ruki stared at him dumbly. He took a drag of his cigarette and let the smoke sting his eyes. The image of Kyo rose like a ghost before his eyes, and he shook his head slightly to clear it.

'I started drawing again,' he muttered.

'That's wonderful. And?'

'And...' Ruki traced his thumbnail around his cigarette filter, 'I think when I get out, I'm gonna go back to university. I'm going to try, I mean. Because I think...' he bit his lip, 'I was thinking about it, and I think if I tell them what happened with me, they might let me back in.'

'I can certainly write a letter suggesting they do,' Sato said gently. 'I have a connection with a rather notable professor.'

Ruki's eyes leapt to him sharply, his heart performing a painful sort of squeeze in his chest. Hope and fear shot through him in equal measures, making him feel instantly sick; he gripped the arm of the chair tightly.

_Don't be Eiji._

'Who?' he managed to ask.

 _Please don't be Eiji_.

'Iwamiya,' Sato said, eyeing Ruki curiously, 'Takeji Iwamiya, the photographer. Of course I don't know what influence he exerts at the university in particular, but...' Sato trailed off, rubbing his thumb along the neatly trimmed edge of his moustache, 'Ruki, you've gone very pale. Is there a problem?'

'No.' Ruki shook his head limply.

Sato hesitated. 'I'd like to discuss your future plans with you further,' he said. 'Particularly in regard to where you'd like to live – with your parents, I mean, or in a dormitory, or alone – and how you're going to keep yourself mentally well in a less structured environment.'

'Uh huh,' Ruki said, but it was no good. His hands shook, and he gazed out of the window fixedly until he felt he could steady them.

 

It was stupid, he was _aware_ it was stupid, but it seemed suddenly bizarre how long it'd been since he'd actually been in the same room as his former lover. Eiji wasn't like the others who had gone; Eiji was still alive, still living his life in Osaka, and once Ruki had been closer to him than he had been to anybody else.

It felt crazy that a person who he'd had sex with – a person who had actually been inside Ruki's body, holding onto him and panting with him and cumming inside him – just wasn't seeing him any more.

The more he thought about it, the more insane it seemed. Crazier than anything going on around him; Eiji doing those things with him and one day saying that Ruki was too young for him and they had to stop.

He wondered why he hadn't thought to point out that Eiji had considered him old enough when they'd first started, and that had been almost two years ago.

He supposed he'd just nodded along to it and accepted all along that it was a lie.

But wasn't that _weird_?

He felt, suddenly, as though if he heard one more lie like that in his life then he'd explode. It was that thought that had him walking quickly down the corridor, his breath coming out of him in harsh little gusts, and knocking on Kyo's bedroom door rather harder than he would have done normally.

It opened, and he found himself being assessed by Shinya's mild, level gaze. That took the wind out of his sails a little. He took a breath.

'Hi,' he said lamely. 'I wanted to speak to—'

Behind Shinya, Kyo was sitting in that strange hunched-over way he had, his shoulders hard against the wall and his weight balanced on the small of his back; he regarded Ruki for a moment and then got to his feet, stretching out his body.

'Hi,' Ruki said a little breathlessly, and Kyo nodded back at him.

'Hi.'

'I wanted to ask you a question.'

'Fine.' He waited, and when Ruki didn't speak, he carefully asked: 'Your room?'

Ruki nodded wordlessly, and the two of them set off down the corridor. He knew he should have been worrying what Shinya would think, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to; instead he just opened the door to his own dorm and nodded Kyo inside. A little uncomfortably, the other man sat down on Ruki's bed, and Ruki let himself drop down next to him. The rain was louder in here, at the back of the building. The hills surrounding them had no outline through the washed-out windows; they just bled straight into the sky.

 

There was a snap of their lighters and a pause whilst they both lit up cigarettes. All Ruki's bluster was gone, and he felt stupid. Having Kyo sat on his bed just made him think of what had happened the last time they were both lying on it, and he felt embarrassed: apart from Kyo's clear-headed _do you regret what we did?_ they hadn't talked about it, and they hadn't so much as held hands since that odd, otherworldly night. He wondered if Kyo was thinking about it, too, and felt instantly hotter. He touched his cheek surreptitiously and found it warm under his hand.

'You had a question,' Kyo stated, sounding quite calm, but his posture was rigid. Ruki eyed the smoke trailing from the tip of his cigarette.

'Yeah. I...was just thinking.'

'Mm.'

'I was thinking about Eiji and how...I don't know, about how he lied to me. Saying he loved me, when...' Ruki shrugged jaggedly. 'You know, he didn't.'

Kyo gave a single, silent nod, and Ruki puffed desperately on his cigarette. He tried to think of what he could possibly have planned to say: _do you like me?_ Could he really have been planning anything that childish?

'Why did you kiss me?' he asked instead, awkwardly, and felt rather than saw the way Kyo's body seemed to tighten up. Lightly, the other man rubbed his fingertips between his eyes.

'Sorry.'

'No, I...' Ruki bit down on his own lip hard, 'I wanted you to. I think – I think I _really_ wanted you to. But I just wanted to know why.'

Kyo tipped his head back, studying the ceiling. 'I like you,' he said plainly. 'It felt like the right thing to do.' He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled bluish smoke towards the ceiling. 'I often want to kiss you.'

Ruki's heart started to do a strange thing, beating fast and up very high, like it was lodged right in the back of his throat. He swallowed painfully.

'When you said you weren't ready to be touched...' he said, trailing off awkwardly, and saw a wry sort of smile twitch at the corner of Kyo's mouth.

'I'm scared,' he explained, his voice quite matter-of-fact. Ruki shifted, crossing his legs.

'I was scared the first time,' he said quietly. 'Actually, I was scared the first few times.'

Kyo's expression adjusted itself slightly. 'Good scared, or bad scared?' he asked, and Ruki didn't have to ask what he meant by that. He forced a smile onto his face, made himself shrug.

'Bad scared.'

'I'm sorry.'

Kyo studied his hands for a moment. 'I think I'm good scared,' he said.

 

Ruki wasn't sure who moved first. It seemed like as one they both glanced over at the door, checking it was closed, and then suddenly Kyo's hands were around his waist and they were falling together on the bed, foundering for purchase in amongst the rumpled sheet and blanket; the stupid obstacle of the pillow, which Ruki shoved unceremoniously to the floor. He rolled and he was on top of Kyo's body, kissing him fiercely; kissing the breath out of him. His lips tasted just the same as they had last time; felt the same, like the real thing.

So it had really happened.

The hand on his waist adjusted itself slightly, slipping under his T-shirt and moulding itself to his skin. He found himself leaning into it, urging it higher, and his lips left Kyo's and started to press against any patch of exposed skin he could find; the other man's cheeks, his jaw, his neck. He could feel his cock starting to stiffen and so he lifted himself up awkwardly, bracing himself on his knees, and Kyo moved his head back to look at him.

Not for the first time, Ruki felt like that look could make him do anything.

The hand that had been around his waist slid up to just below the neck of his T-shirt, made a fist in the fabric and pulled him gently but insistently back down. His dick ground against Kyo's thigh and a soft moan slipped out from his lips. Gently, the older man kissed him. Their lips brushed, sticking slightly, and he felt Kyo give a small sigh against his skin.

His body felt so _warm_. He pushed a hand up under Kyo's T-shirt, running it over the hard muscles in his belly and up over his chest; he felt a stiff nipple under his fingers and pressed his lips to the base of Kyo's throat, feeling rather than hearing the gruff little sound he made.

'This all right?' Ruki asked quietly.

'Yeah.' Kyo's voice was husky and his hand found his cheek, stroking there before sliding into his hair, twining into a handful of it and cupping the back of Ruki's neck. His arm was strong around his waist, holding him; he made some small shift and they gasped together, feeling their bodies slip into alignment, Ruki's cock pressing hard against Kyo's. The older man pushed his hips up experimentally and Ruki let his head drop into the hollow between Kyo's jaw and his shoulder, finding comfort in the familiar scent of the skin there.

 

Why did it feel so _different_ , so completely different to being with Eiji? It was the first time he'd felt his nervousness disappear so entirely under a different emotion; lust, fierce as an animal, tearing through him and making his hands shake, making him scrape his teeth against Kyo's collarbone and bite down when the breath caught in the older man's throat. Kyo moaned lowly, and the sound shot through him like electricity. His hands made helpless fists in his clothes. He bit Kyo's lip, tugging at his T-shirt.

'Can I take this off?'

In answer, Kyo simply gripped Ruki to him and sat them both up, and after a moment of struggle they managed to get it off him, dropping it forgotten onto the floor.

There was a weird look in Kyo's eyes then, an anxiety being burned up by whatever blazing heat was inside of him. He leant back on one arm, the other steadying Ruki where the younger man was straddled over his lap, and carefully Ruki pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Just a kiss, but it made him shiver. Ruki's eyes flicked upwards, checking for some protest, but he found none; Kyo's eyes collided with his, almost crackling with heat, and Ruki trailed his lips lower: shoulder, collarbone, chest. He kissed the nipple he'd slid his hand over and ran his tongue over it experimentally, feeling the leap in Kyo's chest where he sucked in his breath harshly; at the same time, the dick pressed hard against Ruki's own gave an excited twitch. His breath catching a little in his throat, he slid a careful hand down between their two bodies, feeling the shape of the other man through his clothes, hard against his palm.

Every muscle in the other man's chest tightened, and Ruki pulled his hand away quickly. He set it carefully on Kyo's shoulder, instead, and felt Kyo's touch fall away from his hip.

'Sorry,' he muttered. He sort of rubbed his own hand over his chest, like he wanted to cover himself up, and Ruki stroked his hair gently.

'That's okay.'

 

A little awkwardly, given the erection straining against the front of his pants, he climbed off Kyo's lap and settled next to him instead. They looked at each other a little uncertainly, and slowly Kyo put an arm around Ruki's waist and guided him back down to lie on the bed, turning him so they were pressed together back to chest, Ruki facing the wall. He could feel Kyo's heart beating fast, he realised, against his spine; and the hand around his waist stroked his belly lightly before slipping down the front of his pants. Kyo's warm fingers curled around his cock, and Ruki bit his lip, his eyes falling closed.

'You don't – you don't have to—'

'I know.'

A pair of warm lips kissed his neck, his jaw, and as Kyo's hand began to stroke him they brushed over his ear, making him shiver. He felt Kyo smile as his lips brushed over Ruki's ear again, much more deliberately but no less gently, and then a soft tongue was licking lightly at his earlobe, teeth scraping against it just lightly.

'K-Kyo—'

The angle made him wonder if this was how Kyo touched himself, teasing the head of his dick until he felt like he couldn't take it any more and then stroking down the length of it: as soon as he thought it the image seemed to come to life behind his eyelids, and he moaned softly. He wondered if Kyo ever put his own fingers inside himself, the way Ruki had done once or twice when he was feeling particularly needy and desperate, and his hips jerked forward of their own accord. He felt the head of his dick nudge against Kyo's palm, smearing precum there, and his breath got caught up dizzily in his throat.

'Ruki?'

'Yeah?' he gasped. The hand on his cock slowed for a moment, a light fingertip trailing just gently over the tip, and Kyo's other hand pointed up at one of the postcards Ruki had affixed to his wall.

'What's that?' Kyo asked, his voice deep and his hot breath tickling against Ruki's neck, and Ruki had to bite his lip until he was sure he had control of himself.

'It's—' he gasped as Kyo's thumb rubbed a slow, firm circle on the underside of his dick, 'It's a Nash painting.'

'Nash?'

'Paul Nash,' Ruki said, screwing his eyes shut tightly, 'It's called _Winter_...it's called _Winter Sea_.'

'What do you like about it?'

'I like...' Ruki shivered, clutching behind him at Kyo's hip reflexively, 'the lines. The shapes. What he's done with them.'

'What's he done with them?' Kyo asked, voice low in his ear, and Ruki opened his eyes, forced himself to concentrate on the painting even as his lips opened in a gasp and his fingers tightened against Kyo's skin.

'He's looked at it,' Ruki explained brokenly, 'And it's a sea, and those are the shapes it makes, and he's seen them, but it looks like concrete. It looks rigid. There's movement but it's all frozen, like it's been petrified.'

'Why?'

'He painted it after the war. The first world war, I mean. He was...he kind of had a breakdown.'

'And that one?'

Ruki moaned, his hips pushing up against Kyo's fingers. 'That's Klimt. _Beech Forest_.'

'What do you like about that one?'

'The colours,' Ruki panted, his hips bucking up into Kyo's hand almost against his will now, his fingernails digging into the other man's skin, 'It's so – I don't know – it's so golden. It's like a celebration, but it's so lonely at the same time; it – fuck, Kyo, I can't concentrate when you're doing that!'

 

The laugh he felt ruffling the hair at the back of his neck was wonderful: happy enough to feel young and free and to kill some of the terrible tension that had been lurking inside of him ever since Kai had died and everything had got so fucked up; low and close enough to send a jolt of lust all the way down his spine and straight into his cock. He groaned, feeling Kyo's lips trailing over his ear again, the tip of his dick slippery against Kyo's skin.

'I'm close,' he mumbled, 'I'm really close, I—'

He felt Kyo move beside him and suddenly he was rolled onto his back, and he had the briefest feeling of a body over his own before Kyo was pushing his pants down and his legs apart, lowering himself between them; his eyes met Ruki's and, slowly and deliberately, he ran the tip of his tongue all the way up his dick. When he got to the tip he lapped delicately at the tiny bead of moisture he found there, and Ruki fisted his hands tightly in the bed sheets, one leg bending desperately up at the knee.

'Please,' he said, his voice almost a whimper. He wanted to watch, but he couldn't help but let his eyes fall closed as Kyo's lips closed softly over the head of his cock, sliding all the way down its length until Ruki was deeply buried in his hot, wet mouth.

It was overwhelming: not just the feeling, but the knowledge that he was actually _inside_ him; it made his head fall back and his knuckles whiten; made his whole body shake with the effort of not thrusting up into Kyo's mouth. He felt Kyo's tongue flatten against him and then god, the way Kyo _sucked_ him: Ruki cried out hoarsely, his hands flattening against the bed helplessly, and he felt himself spilling into Kyo's mouth before he even had time to gasp a warning. Cumming, he felt dizzy; he arched his back to lessen the temptation to push his hips up, and he didn't really have time to register the cold air against his cock before Kyo's lips were kissing him all over; his thighs, his hips, his belly. He panted, one pale arm thrown over his eyes, his thoughts incoherent; he felt a gentle hand slide beneath his back and just about had the presence of mind to lift his hips off the bed so Kyo could pull his clothing back into place. He heard the sound of the other man putting his T-shirt back on, and then the bed dipped slightly as Kyo settled himself cautiously back next to him.

Moving his arm, Ruki blinked at him dazedly. Grabbing a handful of his T-shirt, he pulled Kyo to him, crushing their lips together. When they finally parted Kyo was looking pretty undone himself, Ruki though – cheeks flushed and lips blurred – and carefully, he reached out and smoothed the other man's hair down. He realised a little belatedly that he'd been tasting his own cum on Kyo's mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to be freaked out about it. He smiled, and just about caught the small smile Kyo gave him in return before the other man was turning him gently back onto his side, so he faced the wall again.

'What's that one?' that low, steady voice asked into his hair, and Ruki smiled.

'That's Frida Kahlo. It's called _The Broken Column_.'

'Tell me about it,' Kyo said quietly, and Ruki did.

 


	33. Chapter 33

It was hard to say which one of them Ruki was more worried about.

Since their terrible fight in the music room neither Aoi nor Die were speaking to each other, and the atmosphere was oppressive; as a group they felt splintered, torn apart in some fundamental way. To Ruki it was as though somebody had ripped the spine out of them, leaving the nerve endings raw and the flesh bloody, the bright muscle aching and exposed. Their silence was a splintery, frightening thing that froze the air.

All in all, it felt like a relief that Aoi shut himself away so much. With Die and Uruha hanging around each other all the time he seemed to prefer to be alone: he hardly spoke at mealtimes and he was looking different, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair messy and matted where he hadn't been bothered to drag a comb through. His usually proud posture had sagged into a defeated stoop, and it was hard to separate it with the image of him shut away in his dorm; it was as though spending so much time in a small, cramped place was making him small and cramped as well. He had a look to him as though he had been trapped for too long in a cloud of unhealthy air; his face was pale, his gaze dull.

The weather wasn't helping. Winter seemed to have moved in overnight, and the light that came in through the windows was dim and grey. The skies around the surrounding hills seemed permanently misty, washing out the horizon, and when Ruki opened windows the air from outside smelled dank; the ripe, organic smell of green things rotting. Some of the trees were already bare, and the ground was brownish with muddy leaves. The whole world seemed to be dying.

For his own part, Die was trying. He wasn't allowed to eat unsupervised any more; he would have an orderly in the seat next to him for the entirety of each meal, monitoring every mouthful, and it was obvious the strain was getting to him. He would swallow painfully, his eyes glittering and hectic, his jaw tensed with stress, and after the plates had been cleared away the countdown would begin: the clock ticking until Die managed to slip away to the bathroom, running the shower to disguise the noise of his retching.

The pipes would gurgle in the walls, and a little more of Die's body would rush towards the sewers.

 

The end of the week grew drier and colder, and the Friday found Ruki lying on his stomach on his bed, doodling absently and trying not to think too hard about what might have been in Eiji's letter.

He wondered how many minutes and hours he'd wasted composing letters to Eiji in his head. When he'd first arrived, it had seemed like the only way he could organise his thoughts; it had been as though he hadn't even known what he was thinking or feeling until he'd heard Eiji's voice in his head, reading it out. His voice was smoky sounding, slightly gravelly from years of cigarettes.

He glanced up and saw the darker spots on the walls where Kai's posters had once hung. If he closed his eyes he could summon them up still in their old arrangement: the giant Yellow Submarine poster that had been fastened over the head of his bed; the handmade banner that read HERE COMES THE SUN in bubbly psychedelic writing, clashing shades of pink and green.

He thought of them all on a scrap pile somewhere, or being turned into paper soup in the recycling plant, and his stomach hurt.

There was a tap at the door and he sat up stiffly, his elbows locking. The collection of loose sketches on the paper in front of him looked smudgy and unappealing; he sighed and balled them up. 'Yeah?'

The door opened peremptorily and the head nurse stepped in, her hand – her nails were very blunt, Ruki noticed, almost square – wrapped firmly around the arm of a young man who looked vaguely familiar: something about the way he stood, Ruki thought at first, until he noticed the grey blanket draped around his shoulders and made the connection.

The man in the blanket. Nervously, he sat up straighter. 'Hello.'

'Ruki, good afternoon.' With a pushy little gesture the nurse guided the man further into the room; he went docilely, his eyes weirdly unfocussed. 'I'd like you to meet your new roommate, Hara Toshimasa.'

'Oh.' Ruki rubbed an uncomfortable hand through his hair. 'Hi.'

The man didn't react, but when he was prodded he sat himself down on the bed in a vague kind of way. The nurse gave Ruki a small twitch of a smile, looking almost anxious.

'Hara might be a little sleepy,' she explained, 'Until we can get his medication fine-tuned.'

'Oh,' Ruki said, hoping he didn't sound as perturbed as he felt. Sleepy was a bit of an understatement, in his opinion; in the time she'd been talking, Hara had leant back against the wall and his eyes had slipped closed, his face slack. He was sweating, Ruki noticed; beads of it were banding around his temples.

'Shall I leave you two to get acquainted?' She peered at Ruki's new roommate, 'Perhaps when he's feeling a little more up to it, you can give him a tour and introduce him around? We've been through the rules, of course, but we do find our new patients engage with the regime here a little more if they hear them from a contemporary. Yes? Well...'

She hesitated, but the man on the bed was completely unresponsive. Ruki swallowed.

'Well,' she said at last, 'Thank you, Ruki. Do make him welcome.'

She left the door open behind her, and Ruki turned himself a little awkwardly to face the other man, planting his bare feet on the floor and knotting his fingers together between his knees. The man's eyes opened a crack, and then closed again.

It was hard to tell how old he was. He certainly looked tired – his skin had an unhealthy ashy colour to it and his eyes were darkly shadowed – but underneath the exhausted lines his face was falling into and the way his hair was sticking damply to his skin, Ruki thought he might not have been that old at all. He was tall and skinny, a collection of long shapes all loosely knotted together. Where the blanket was slipping off one shoulder, Ruki saw that there was a white dressing stuck over the crook of his arm and an ugly bruise branching out of it, following up the vein, like he was wearing his blood on the outside. Looking at it, he suppressed a shudder.

 

It was weird, sharing a room with somebody so out of it. In time Ruki shuffled further back onto his bed, crossed his legs neatly and returned to drawing: since Hara was so still he was the easiest thing to focus on, and Ruki squinted at his paper, trying to figure out if the man looked as dead in real life as he did on paper. He roused himself only once, to pull his blanket tighter around him and lie down properly. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow like a child, but gave no indication that he was aware he wasn't alone; he didn't open his eyes and though his lips moved faintly, he didn't say anything Ruki could catch. He shivered occasionally, but that was all, and when the sky started to darken and dinner time approached, Ruki found himself nervous to approach him.

Tentatively, he poked the man's shoulder. He didn't open his eyes, but his face screwed itself up into a scowl.

'Hara,' he said, and cleared his throat. 'Hey. Hara?'

It took some time, but two dark brown eyes slowly opened and took him in. Hara reached up and rubbed at them ineffectually.

'Who're you?' he said, his voice a little slurred and rough.

'I'm Ruki. I'm your roommate.'

'Oh.' He was quiet for a moment, blinking up at Ruki in a dazed sort of way.

'It's almost dinner,' Ruki said, and the man started to close his eyes again.

'I'm not hungry.'

'But...you sort of have to eat, here. It's a rule.'

The only answer he got to that was a low groaning noise. Ruki bit his lip. 'Please get up,' he tried. 'If you don't eat, we'll get in trouble.'

There was a pause. 'Trouble?'

'Yeah. They can...they have punishments.'

There was another long silence, but at the end of it Hara started to push himself up, rubbing at his own face blearily. He seemed to feel his own sweat against his hand and grimaced. He pulled his hair back but then realised he had nothing to tie it up with, and let it drop around his shoulders. Unsteadily he got to his feet, swaying a little; he yawned and shivered and gripped the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Standing up, even hunched over the way he was, he towered over Ruki. He gripped the wall to keep himself upright and Ruki wondered briefly how it would look if Hara had chosen to lean on him, instead: like he was some kind of human crutch, probably.

In the corridor outside, there was some slow activity as the collection of patients made their way to the table. He saw Die walking as if to the guillotine, his head down and his hands jammed painfully in his pockets; his arms were so thin that the shape of the bones was visible, horrible and vulnerable looking, like something that desperately needed to be touched but was far too fragile to bear it. In the dining room he took his seat at the table and let out a long, low breath, and uncomfortably Ruki surveyed the range of chairs.

Kai's old seat seemed to stand out like an exclamation mark.

'I suppose that's the free chair,' he said uneasily. 'If you want to sit there.'

Wearily, Hara pulled it out and dropped himself down into it. He rubbed his face harshly and gave a wide yawn.

'Thanks.' He caught sight of Die on the other side of the table and rested his cheek on his palm. 'Hey, skinny.'

Die's look was nervous. 'Hi.'

Noisily, Aoi scraped his chair over the floor as he jerked it out. He sat down firmly and leant back, lit cigarette already propped between his lips, and surveyed Hara coldly. His throat hollowed as he took a deep pull on his cigarette, and he let grey smoke billow from his nostrils.

'Who's this,' he demanded.

'It's my new roommate,' Ruki said in a small voice. The room was filling up around them, there was the sound of chairs being pulled out and slow bodies settling themselves, but the only thing he could properly focus on was Aoi's face. It felt sharper than everything else in the room, vivid with dislike and veiled with smoke. His eyes seemed to burn.

'Oh, right. So he's not content to sleep in Kai's bed; now he has to sit in his chair, as well.'

'C'mon, Aoi,' Ruki said quietly, 'There's nowhere else for him to sit.'

'Then he should sit on the _floor_ ,' Aoi snapped, slamming the palm of his hand on the tabletop in a way that made even Shinya jump. He made a soft sound of upset, and something darkened in Kyo's face.

 

The moment was only partially defused by the orderly pulling a chair up next to Die, halfway between being at the table and hovering over his shoulder; Ruki noted with some distaste that it was the same man who had struck him that one time, in the music room. It felt like ages ago now; another lifetime. Die and Aoi had been so close then, the staff had needed to physically wrench them apart.

He remembered that – the man grabbing Aoi by the hair and sending him wheeling into the wall; the way Die had leapt at him then, his skinny body spiky with anger but useless, weak as paper _._ He wondered if Aoi was remembering too. Looking at his eyes, it was impossible to tell.

Their trays landed in front of them, and Die made a sort of whimpering noise, running his hand through his hair. The orderly handed his chopsticks to him, and when Die faltered, Ruki watched the man grab his wrist and squeeze his fingers harshly around them, making him hold on.

'Don't be so rough,' Aoi said sharply, and the orderly's face twitched in annoyance. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder to check that none of the other staff were within earshot and then leant in close.

'You want to push me into punishing you, that's fine,' he said, his voice pitched low but very clear, 'Just you give me a reason, faggot. I'd love to.'

Looking unimpressed, Aoi blew cigarette smoke in his face. The orderly leant back again and pushed Die's hand towards his food. 'Eat.'

It seemed the whole table held their breaths as Die haltingly took a mouthful of food, chewed, and swallowed. An unreadable look on his face, Aoi dragged his eyes away and focussed them back on Hara, his expression flashing back to anger.

'So,' he said bitterly, 'What's up with you?'

Ruki's new roommate shrugged groggily.

'Just tired.'

'I mean what's _wrong_ with you?' Aoi said from between gritted teeth, 'Why are you _here_?'

Hara shrugged, but the movement made his blanket slip and reveal his damaged arm. Ruki felt the entire table follow the line of Aoi's eyes to the bruising, where they hardened with disgust. 'Not a fucking _junkie_ ,' he said softly. 'Pathetic.'

'Another mouthful,' the orderly said at Die's side. 'Go.'

 _Junkie?_ Ruki thought desperately; was _that_ what he was? He shot Hara a troubled look, but to his credit, the other man just gave a tired sigh.

'Yep,' he said in a bored sort of voice. He took a mouthful of rice and chewed slowly, looking supremely unperturbed.

'Great,' Aoi said savagely, 'Congratulations. That makes you the biggest fuck-up here.'

'Does it,' Hara said tonelessly. He gave another yawn and then turned to Uruha, who sat at his side. 'Hi.'

Wordless, Uruha simply shook his head and thumped his own fist against the side of his skull, and Hara's eyes cast themselves a little uncertainly around the table.

'What are you doing here if you're a junkie?' Ruki asked, surprising himself. The word sounded harsh from his lips, and he stuttered, 'I mean – if you're not sick?'

Hara just shrugged, but Aoi leaned forward, a nasty look in his eyes: 'Sometimes the state sends trash like this through,' he hissed, 'They scrape them off the street and send them in for rehab and therapy, like there's any point to it.'

'Aoi,' the orderly said quietly, 'Are you getting out of hand? Do I need to _manage_ you?'

Aoi shot him an annoyed glance. 'You tell me,' he said, his voice dangerous, and the orderly shook his head. He gripped Die's shoulder hard.

'Eat,' he muttered, and Ruki thought he might have seen a brief flash of irritation over Die's face.

'I am,' he said, his voice expressionless.

'Then eat _faster_. Do I have to _feed_ you, Die? Do I have to _feed_ you like a baby?'

Die must have hesitated too long, because the man grabbed the spoon from his tray and scooped up a large clump of rice. Casting another quick look over his shoulder, he grabbed Die by the hair and forced the spoon between his lips, making him choke. Tears sprang into Die's eyes and the orderly let him go in disgust as he coughed rice over his plate, taking a great gasp of breath once his throat was clear.

The next few things happened very quickly, but to Ruki, they felt slow. They felt artificially slow, in fact, as if time itself was faltering, and he saw everything in what felt like ultra high definition: he saw Aoi's hand make a fist as he rose out of his chair; saw the tension in his body as he threw himself across the table and the arc of water as it spilled from a knocked cup, rice and vegetables scattering over the tabletop; saw the look of surprise contort the orderly's face for the briefest moment – all he had time for – before Aoi was on him, the force of his body hitting directly upon the man's chest and knocking him off his chair and to the floor. They landed messily, the orderly on his back and Aoi above him, and Ruki saw Aoi's face pull itself into a snarl as he thrust the burning end of his cigarette exactly between the other man's eyes.

 

The uproar was instantaneous. The orderly howled, kicked out, and threw Aoi off him easily; he grasped him by the back of the neck and thrust him face-down onto the floor. Footsteps in rubber-soled shoes squeaked in the corridor and the room was flooded with white; orderlies and nurses in their snowy uniforms, and everything seemed to be happening at once: Uruha's face petrified at seeing his two best friends treated so roughly, his fingernails digging bloody crescents into his own cheeks; Hara staggering out of his chair; Kyo frozen; Shinya with his eyes shut tight and his hands gripping desperately at his own shoulders.

The burn on the orderly's forehead was a meaty pink and streaked with ash. He staggered to his feet in an ungainly way; Aoi was still clawing at him, trying to drag him back down, and with a half-closed fist the orderly swiftly broke his nose. The blood was vivid, almost too dark to be real, and shocking in its quantity; it ran fiercely and Ruki watched as Die made some harsh noise and stumbled upright, out of his chair.

His face paled, and he folded double. He coughed once, roughly, and gave a dizzy sort of glance outwards before his legs gave out. He collapsed in an oddly vertical kind of way, as if he had simply crumpled.

' _Die_!' Aoi cried, his voice thick, bubbling through the blood. On the other side of the table Die was lying in a messy sort of pile on the floor, his breath wheezing uselessly in his throat and an awful expression on his face; the nurses closed in around him as a wall of white but Aoi was fighting through them, refusing to be dragged back, speckling the floor in coin-sized droplets of blood: 'Die,' he kept saying, ' _Die_ —'

The T-shirt was scissored away from Die's skin, revealing the poor stem of his body; the nurses seemed to be everywhere at once, rolling seamlessly into action; taking his pulse and pushing his hair away from his mouth and holding his head steady.

'Call an ambulance,' somebody was saying, and over the top of them Aoi was almost screaming _is this a fucking hospital or not?_ , and when Ruki managed to scramble around the table what he saw frightened him, because Die's face was a ruddy red-grey and his breathing was only happening in harsh, disconnected gasps, and his body was all wrong somehow – his legs horribly swollen and his throat hollowing with effort and his eyes rolling fearfully in his head. His mouth was flecked with pinkish foam and the lips underneath it were a weird purple. There was a grinding sound as the chairs and table were shoved away from him; a window swung wide like a mouth to give him air.

His hand, a thin claw with bluish fingernails, groped pointlessly; still fighting against the orderlies that tried to pull him away, Aoi grasped at it. Their fingers locked tightly and Ruki saw it as Die struggled to focus; as two sets of terrified dark eyes met.

'Aoi,' he said almost soundlessly, and Aoi's knuckles whitened with the strength of his grip.

'I'm so sorry,' he said, his words running over each other in their haste to get out, 'Die, I'm so sorry.'

Die smiled at him, the expression ghoulish with the blood on his teeth and horribly contorted. 'If anybody could have saved me,' he said in a gritty, distorted voice, 'It would have been you.'

The rest was immaterial, lost in a sort of rushing sound in Ruki's ears: Aoi crying out, a hypodermic needle plunging into his upper arm. Hara stumbling back against a wall, white-faced. Shinya huddled in a corner, his hands clasped over his own head.

Ruki felt Kyo's hand on his waist, and he let his face fall into the other man's shoulder. Outside, the mist completely obscured the hills.

 


	34. Chapter 34

' _Goodbye, goodbye to Rome,_

_City of a million moonlit places,_

_City of a million warm embraces,_

_Where I found the one_

_Of all the faces far from home..._ '

Aoi's face was directed towards the television screen, but he didn't seem to be watching. His eyes were blank and unfocussed, and he didn't flinch when the syrupy music was broken up by a burst of fuzzy static; he was completely still, his limbs gathered in a loose sort of way before him and his face resting against the arm of the chair he'd chosen. His face had gotten a little better over the days that had passed, but it was still puffy and bruised around his nose and eyes.

He was alone, too. That was the weirdest thing: the absence of Die or Uruha around him. It was as if the two of them had contributed to his general personhood: without them, he looked smaller, his face paler, hair thinner, and everything that had seemed so forceful about him seemed now pathetically insubstantial, like a shadow.

But Uruha had been hiding in his room for the past few days, and seemed unlikely to come out.

And Die...

'Maybe you should turn it over,' Ruki suggested tentatively, 'You don't want to watch this.'

On the screen, grainy and wavery, Takashima Hayato flipped a coin into the Trevi Fountain's churning waters. The music swelled as the camera lingered fondly on the face of Oceanus, Abundance and Salubrity, cut to a shot of the rockwork and panned serenely across the horses. The last shot was of the fountain in its entirety.

Then, it cut to an advert that featured young women in flippy miniskirts wearing slim Seiko watches. Carefully, Ruki got up and turned the volume down.

'Think he's still alive?' Aoi asked dully. Halfway through tapping a cigarette out of his pack, Ruki hesitated.

'I'm sure he is,' he said. 'They would tell us, if he wasn't.'

'Would they,' Aoi said, not bothering to add a question mark.

'They haven't moved his things out of your room or anything,' Ruki added hopefully, but Aoi's only answer was a dense silence, and Ruki bit at his lip. 'Die's tough,' he tried. 'He'll make it.'

It was the same conversation they'd had countless times over the past week. Ever since Die was taken away, their conversations ran in circles and stagnated; nothing was new, there was no inspiration. The advert on the television changed to one for Kodak cameras. A nurse popped her head around the door, regarded them both briefly, and moved on along the corridor.

'He spoke about himself in the past tense,' Aoi mumbled. 'He gave up.'

'The tense isn't important,' Ruki said a little desperately, 'It's what he said that's important. Aoi, he said—'

'What he said doesn't _matter_ ,' Aoi said sharply, 'Because even if I could have saved him, I didn't. I didn't. I got mad at him, and I told him he should go ahead and die if he wanted to, and now for once in his life he's actually doing as he's fucking told.'

 

There was an ugly silence. Ruki rolled his cigarette between his fingers.

'He knew you didn't really want him to die,' he said quietly. 'And he doesn't want to die, either.'

Aoi sighed, pulling his body loosely upright. The adverts were over and for a moment he watched quietly, a strange look in his eyes, as Uruha's father stood and gestured towards the Coliseum behind him. There was a road built by it; Ruki hadn't known that. The cars zipped by almost soundlessly and it was odd to look at, those three layers: Takashima Senior, the cars, and the Coliseum. Foreground, middle ground and background, all utterly irrelevant to each other: it felt disconnected, like a dream. It made him feel almost dizzy, and he set his gaze on the window above the television instead. For the first time, he thought, it really looked like winter: the sky was a flinty blue and the surrounding hills had a tight, huddled sort of look, as if they had all shrunk down into themselves and hardened their edges.

'I talk such a big game,' Aoi said at last, his voice slow and quiet and measured, 'But I'm a coward.'

'You're not a coward, Aoi.'

'No?' he smiled bitterly, 'Everything I said to Die, hurting him, pushing him away; it was because I was scared. I was so scared that I wanted to stop caring, because I thought not caring would be easier than watching him die.' He gestured uselessly, a horrible empty look on his face. 'I said sorry, but even then I couldn't say anything that mattered.'

'Like?' Ruki asked gently, and Aoi half-laughed, lighting up a cigarette.

'Like I love him; like I've been really _fucking_ stupid and fallen totally in love with him.'

Ruki shifted awkwardly in his chair.

'What about...?'

'Uruha? Yeah, that's the best part: I'm head-over-fucking-heels for him, too.'

Ruki wasn't really sure what to say to that, but Aoi didn't seem to be expecting a response. He simply shook his head and sat back, the smoke from his cigarette curling up around his face, tears glinting in his eyes.

'Hey,' he said tiredly, 'Leave me alone for a bit, yeah?'

Ruki bit his lip. 'Sure,' he said.

Before he left the room he changed the channel on the television, but it was no good; all the other stations were getting mostly snow, and Aoi didn't seem to be watching anyway.

 

It was weird, the sanatorium being so quiet. The music room was empty and he toyed with the idea of putting on a record, just to fill some of the silence, but the thought of flicking through Die's collection of LPs made him feel sad and tired before he could even begin. Instead, he just snatched Kai's small radio off the top of the piano. It had sat there untouched ever since he'd gone, and there was a fine film of dust on it; carefully, Ruki wiped it off. When he turned it on it gave a friendly hum of static in his hands, a fizzing sort of noise that gradually resolved itself into the Rolling Stones' _Sympathy For The Devil_. Quietly, he gave a sigh of relief and took the little radio with him back to his room.

He had expected Hara to be lying on his bed, out of it; he was almost always that way, if not asleep then still near dead to the world. When Ruki walked in, though, he was sitting up on his bare mattress – he'd stripped all the sheets off to wrap them around him, and even through their bulk Ruki could see him shivering. Slowly, he sat down on his own bed, laying the radio down beside him carefully.

'Are you okay?' he asked stupidly. With his eyes squeezed tightly closed, Hara made a face somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

'No,' he forced out from between gritted teeth, 'I feel like I'm going fucking crazy, Ruki.'

'At least you're in the right place,' Ruki said tiredly, and Hara's eyes snapped open.

'You're mental,' he breathed nonsensically, 'They must give you drugs.'

Ruki shrugged uncomfortably and Hara leant forward. Beads of sweat were banding his forehead and his lips were so chapped them looked almost white; he ran his tongue over them.

'What do they give you?' he asked, his voice almost a whisper, 'Do you have any you haven't taken? Anything at all?'

'No. Sorry.'

'Does anybody?'

'Nobody keeps any medicine around any more, Hara,' Ruki said, surprised by the sharpness in his own voice, 'Not since my last roommate used them to kill himself.'

Hara sort of froze up at that, and then tugged his blanket tighter around the skinny cage of his ribs.

'Sorry,' he muttered. He rubbed his arms and started to sway lightly, rocking himself back and forth like it was a comfort. Ruki shrugged uneasily.

'That's okay.'

Smiling weakly, Hara nodded towards the radio. 'That's nice. You like the Stones?'

'Yeah, I do.' Ruki held up the radio and gave it an awkward sort of waggle, 'This was Kai's. Nobody's used it since he died, but I think he'd kind of want us to.'

'Sounds like he was nice,' Hara said, 'That Aoi guy seems to think so.'

Ruki had it in him to wince a little at that: in the days that had passed, Aoi hadn't gotten any friendlier with their newest arrival, flying instead between ignoring him one moment and spitting insults at him the next.

'Aoi's going through a hard time,' Ruki said slowly. 'Kai meant a lot to him, and...I don't know, he feels guilty over what happened with Die. Not just because he feels like it's his fault, but – he sort of made a promise to Kai that he'd protect us all.'

He eyed Hara suddenly, daring him to laugh or roll his eyes at that, but the other man simply nodded. Pulling the blankets tighter around him, he leant back against the wall, looking exhausted.

'What are you in for?' he asked, licking his cracked lips again, and Ruki hesitated for just a moment.

'I tried to kill myself.'

Hara blinked at him. 'For real?'

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

Ruki shrugged. 'I don't know, really. I know that sounds lame, but it's true. I was just unhappy all the time. And I didn't want to be unhappy any more.'

With a trembling hand, Hara wiped away some hair that his own sweat had stuck to his neck. 'That's as good a reason as any, I guess.'

His whole body was shaking uncontrollably, Ruki noticed. He sat forward.

'What's up with you?' he asked bluntly. 'Are you actually sick?'

Hara gave a limp shrug. 'Coming down.'

'Coming down,' Ruki repeated, the words a little strange to him, and Hara snorted a laugh.

'This is what happens to your body when it's really, _really_ used to having heroin in it.'

'So why would you take it, if you know you're going to end up like this?' Ruki asked curiously, and Hara gave a dreamy shake of his head.

'Because it's the best feeling in the world,' he said simply. He tried again to wipe hair from his face, but his hand faltered limply around shoulder height and fell back to the bed.

'So it's worth it?'

'Probably not, but it doesn't matter. I need it.' He coughed.

'I hate needing things.'

'Everyone needs something,' Hara said, but gave a tired grin. Ruki gave him a small smile back.

'So what does it feel like? Coming down?'

'Horrible. Like being tired all the time, but you can't sleep. Like hurting all the time. It was worse; that was when they had me upstairs. I couldn't really look after myself. Plus, I was spewing all the time.' His grin widened, the expression oddly boyish and endearing on his waxy, haunted face. 'Both ends, if you catch my drift.'

'Right,' Ruki said quickly.

'Heroin fucks with your body,' Hara said conversationally, his body jittering so his teeth clicked together. 'When you're on it you don't need to be entertained, or to eat so much, or to have sex. Now, I'm so fucking horny I can't stand it.' He shrugged. 'Great time to land myself in a ward full of men, huh?'

'D'you have parents,' Ruki asked hurriedly, changing the subject, 'Or something?'

'Everyone has parents.'

'Yeah, but...'

'I have two very nice parents.'

'So – Hara—'

'Toshiya,' he interrupted.

'Huh?'

'You can call me Toshiya, if you want.' He shrugged a little shyly. 'Nobody here seems to go by last names.'

He wiped sweat from his temple and clutched the sheets tighter around his body. 'I don't want to talk any more,' he said, his voice sounding a little weaker. He nodded at the radio. 'Would you leave that on?'

'Sure. Toshiya.'

On the bed, Toshiya smiled briefly and then lay back down, pulling his knees up tightly to his chest and clutching onto them. His shadowed eyes fell closed, and he gave a deep, wrenching shudder.

 

Ruki left Toshiya with the radio and took to wandering aimlessly around the corridors, mapping them with his feet, pacing the bounds of his little prison. The silence was an unnatural one, the silence of hushed people, almost ghostly. He peered into the music room, pushed back the unlocked door of the isolation room and checked the glass doors of all the phone booths: everywhere was empty. His own heartbeat was audible in his ears.

The thing he hadn't realised about death, he thought, was that it was infectious. Kai had died, and at first it had seemed that everybody would be okay, but now Die was fighting for his life and Uruha was locked up inside of himself and even Aoi seemed to be slipping away. It was as though his dead body was a millstone tied around all of their necks, dragging them down to some unspeakable deep; his seaweed hair, his sweet rotten smell, his blue fingers. Ruki rubbed both hands hard against his temples, feeling a powerful headache forming.

Would his death have done that to his family, he wondered; drag them down, too?

After Hiroshi had died, had they ever really surfaced, any of them?

Blindly, he kicked out at a wall. It didn't make him feel better, so he hit it with his open hand; the impact made his bones feel like they were vibrating, and he curled his fingers into a fist.

The feeling of panic made the inside of his mouth taste sour and his eyes sting. He struck out, gritting his teeth, his thoughts starting to whirl together meaninglessly; he hit again and again and smudges of red appeared on the white wall. He looked at them with hectic eyes, struggling to comprehend them, and then staggered backwards into the nearest door he could find, which took him into the bathroom. The mirrors over the sinks reflected his own frightened face back at him, pale and small and somehow warped, the colours wrong in the dimness; whites too grey and greys too black and blacks too dark, scarily dark, the negative of a person. He gripped one of the sinks, his knuckles stinging. He didn't notice the clattering, rushing noise of water falling until it stopped, and he sank down onto his knees unsteadily. The edge of the sink was wonderfully cool against his face, and he pressed his forehead against it so it caused a hard band of pain that matched the headache inside. A cubicle door clicked open, but he didn't bother to turn around. He bit down on his own lip too hard; he tasted blood. He was aware that his breathing was coming out of him in a strange way, high and wavering, echoing weirdly off the tile and enamel, and that he was crying too, sobbing embarrassingly. There was a sound of footsteps, and of slowly dripping water. A careful arm slid around his waist, making his T-shirt wet.

'I've got you,' said a low voice in his ear, and Ruki closed his eyes.

'Everyone's leaving me,' he said tightly, noting that the voice coming out of him sounded high and thin; nothing like his own at all. He hit out at the sink but a warm hand caught his wrist before he could make impact.

'Nobody's leaving,' said that same, measured voice, and Ruki shook his head tiredly. The arm about his waist squeezed comfortingly and he leant back into the hold, his clothes sticking damply wherever they made contact with the wet skin behind him.

 

He wasn't quite sure how long the two of them stayed like that. A long time, he thought. The hand pressing gently against his stomach felt almost as familiar to him as his own, and slowly he placed his own hand over it, stretching out his fingers. Kyo's hands were larger than his; he couldn't quite reach. His knuckles felt stiff and sticky with blood, and the raw-looking wounds on them were dotted with powdered plaster that had turned a sick pinkish colour.

A little awkwardly he turned himself around, his nervous gaze meeting with Kyo's level one.

Carefully, the older man pressed his thumb against the little bead of blood on Ruki's lip.

It looked as though he'd only briefly towel-dried his hair before stepping out of the shower cubicle; it was damp and dripping from the tips, droplets of water trickling down his bare shoulders and chest until they reached the hem of his towel, knotted about his waist. Ruki found his eyes were following their progress; hastily, he pulled his gaze away, and Kyo carefully took his hand away from Ruki's face. There was a red smear on the pad of his thumb, and Ruki licked his lower lip, tasting blood again.

'Want to talk about it?' the older man asked. His voice was calm but sounded a note or two deeper than usual, and Ruki shrugged uselessly. He realised that his eyes were on Kyo's chest again and quickly looked back up at his face, feeling flustered, his cheeks warming.

'Everything's a mess,' he said in a halting voice, and Kyo gave a slow nod.

'Correct.'

'It's all falling apart,' Ruki said helplessly, and the older man smiled at him.

'Maybe.'

'So...' Ruki struggled, 'I don't see what the point is. I don't know why anybody is trying. Nothing's going to be the same.'

'No, it's not.'

'So why _bother_?'

'Because you're still breathing,' Kyo said simply. 'While you're breathing, you have hope.'

Perhaps the look Ruki gave him was too intense. His head felt like it was racing, beating like a heart, too many different thoughts turning around in it pointlessly; there was Die, Uruha, Aoi, somewhere beneath all that there was Eiji, deeper still Hiroshi: there was so much hurt, so much shame that his skull felt stuffed to the brim with it, too full for reason to squeak through.

And he _wanted_ , he thought desperately; he wanted to be held, and helped. He wanted release, something powerful enough to crack him apart so all the dark thoughts could swirl out of him, and with a hungry look he suddenly lurched forward, pressing their mouths together hard. He felt more than heard Kyo's sound of surprise and bit down on the older man's lower lip fiercely, hands clutching at him, touching him everywhere they could reach; his skin was still damp and Ruki's palms slid against it easily: over his shoulders, tense with shock; he ran his fingers over the scars that were so old they felt almost like nothing; felt the hard muscles in his abdomen. His hand hit the snag of Kyo's towel and feverishly he started fumbling at the knot that held it in place; he gave up quickly and simply slipped his hand into the fold, grabbing at Kyo's legs, nudging between them; his cock was warm to the touch and starting to get hard and Ruki wrapped his fingers around it, stroking jerkily, biting down harder on his lip—

And then he was stumbling backwards, breath coming out harshly and lips stinging slightly from their hard kisses, mind foggy. Kyo had pushed him, he realised – pushed him away, and was now clutching protectively at the towel wrapped around him, expression unreadable.

Ruki swallowed, gripping hold of the hard edge of the sink to stabilise himself.

'I'm sorry,' the older man said stiffly, still clinging so tightly to his towel that his knuckles were white, 'I didn't mean to push you.'

'No...' Ruki finally found his voice, weak and shaky-sounding, 'I'm sorry. I'm really – I don't – I don't know what—'

'It's all right.'

'Did I hurt you?'

'No, you didn't hurt me.'

Kyo looked at him closely, making him flush. He stepped closer and, cheeks feeling hot, Ruki leant back again and slid a hand inside his underwear, rubbing at his own cock tentatively, but Kyo's hand wrapped itself around his wrist and so he stopped, feeling slightly foolish.

'You don't want this,' Kyo said to him, very softly but clearly, 'Not this way.'

'But – I—' Ruki stammered, and carefully, Kyo kissed him on the forehead.

'You're not hard,' he said as gently as he could, and Ruki wavered.

'I...'

He couldn't meet Kyo's eye; he focussed lower. Kyo's bottom lip was deep red where he'd bitten down on it, and he felt a hot flush of guilt go through him. 'I'm really sorry,' he said lamely, and the firm hand holding his wrist softened its grip, stroking the skin there soothingly.

'I said it's all right.'

'But I know you're not ready for—'

'Don't make me repeat myself,' Kyo warned, the hint of a smile in his voice, and carefully he linked their fingers together. He sort of swung their hands awkwardly, seemingly at a loss for what to say, and a good minute or so of silence passed between them. Miserably, Ruki forced himself to meet his eyes.

'It feels like too much,' he admitted softly, 'And I'm scared.'

'Scared?'

'I'm losing people, and I don't – I don't feel in control. I don't feel in control of myself, and I'm scared that if they see they'll do something to me; they'll put me in the isolation room and I'll be all alone and I—'

'Ruki,' Kyo said, his voice quiet but clear enough to cut through the younger man's anxious babbling, 'Don't panic. That won't happen.'

'But they might—'

'Yes, they might,' Kyo said plainly, 'But I won't leave you.'

Ruki swallowed, feeling his chest rising and falling unsteadily.

'Promise?'

'Yes.'

'But how can you—'

'Ruki.' Kyo hesitated. 'Trust me.'

Ruki closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then nodded.

'Okay.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you already know what I'm going to say: yes, I'm going away again. To Iceland, this time! Back in 10 days or so.  
> If it seems like I go on a lot of trips then congratulations: you've just figured out the mystery of why I'm broke 99% of the time. Sorry!


	35. Chapter 35

Over the next two weeks, they became more or less inseparable.

It was like something unspoken had been resolved between them, as if an understanding had been reached; suddenly, it became only the right and proper thing that Kyo should be waiting for Ruki in the music room after breakfast, and that they should while away the morning in there together, Kyo writing in his notebook and Ruki drawing on the floor, his brow knit with concentration and his teeth clenched around a cigarette whilst little flurries of snow whisked past outside the window.

He could never have imagined what a feeling it was to have somebody by him all the time – somebody who wasn't demanding sex or entertainment or even conversation; somebody who wasn't going to just go away and leave him; somebody who seemed content to just _be_. It bolstered him, that feeling; he had the impression of tentatively leaning his weight against something and having it hold up beneath him; a branch that wasn't as fragile as it looked.

November turned to December and the little flurries thickened into great swirls of snow; whole loads of the stuff seemed to get dumped overnight, covering up the dull greys and browns of the hills in winter. Three long months had passed since the day Ruki and Kyo had come back late and been punished with the loss of their freedom – and they had been hard months. Finally stepping outside again and hearing snow crunch under his boots, it occurred to Ruki how very much had changed – how much those three months had cost them all; how much had been taken from them. He had stopped very still, the wintry air stinging his eyes and his nose and his throat, and with effort he had turned back to the sanatorium and seen at the windows the ghosts that still resided there; Kai's bright smile and the flash of his radio, the hiss of static; Die's skeletal body reclined in a chair or dancing dangerously close with Aoi's; Uruha's bedroom door, shut and locked.

Kyo took his hand and he turned back towards the outside, hearing his heart beat in his ears and the breath in his lungs. It might have been too late for Kai, but the rest of them – they were still breathing. And while they breathed, they had hope.

 

With their punishment lifted they were allowed two hours per day outside, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, schedules permitting. It was a frustration that often their schedules didn't permit it; that there was still individual therapy to attend, group therapy to slog through with Aoi's dead eyes and hunched body; there were still mealtimes and bedtimes and a hundred other distractions to get in the way. For Ruki, it felt like his only lifeline: those walks out in the frozen grounds, Kyo at his side. The privacy was as intoxicating as the fresh air and both went to his head and got him feeling drunk; suddenly there was the promise of whole hours alone, just the two of them, nobody about to barge in. It seemed almost impossible. Like there should have been a catch.

Winter up in the hills was beautiful but harsher than Ruki had ever known it; unlike in Osaka, where any snowfall was generally trampled into dirty slush within a few hours, here the snow sat and sat and formed a hard crust on its surface; it glittered in the sunlight. In some places it was more than knee deep; sometimes the crust was strong enough to support them and sometimes not, and Ruki learnt the hard was that snow liked to accumulate around the trunks of trees when he stepped close to one and promptly disappeared up to his waist. It had been difficult to heave himself out of that, not least because Kyo didn't help; the other man simply stood back and watched him, cold hands jammed into his pockets, his mouth hidden by his scarf but his eyes smiling.

'Don't be so smug,' Ruki hissed, using the branches of the tree as handholds as he staggered back onto firmer ground, and Kyo snorted.

'Graceful.'

He sank ankle-deep as he walked closer. He grabbed the scarf covering Kyo's face and decisively tugged it down, shutting up his faint protests with a kiss.

Their lips and cheeks were cold and the contrast of it, of cold skin and warm breath, never failed to send a shiver through Ruki's body. He thought from the way Kyo pulled him closer that the other man might feel the same.

Carefully, Ruki smoothed the scarf back into place, grinning at him. The air was so cold that each breath felt like it was cutting his throat, and Kyo's face before his was three stark colours: his white skin, the red of his cheeks and the tip of his nose and the dark bluish shadows under his eyes. His body was dressed somewhat messily in clothes that had obviously been donated; a knitted beanie and a waxed cotton jacket. Underneath, Ruki knew, were two jumpers, both identical and institutional grey. The scarf was grey too, and very long.

Ruki almost wished he'd been able to wear some donated clothing himself. His own winter clothes had been stuffed into a lower drawer upon his arrival and completely ignored up until now; when he'd opened that drawer and put them on, he'd been suddenly surrounded by the scents of home and for a moment he'd stood very still, breathing it in.

It was like a time capsule; the small array of garments from happier moments – here was a scarf that still smelled faintly of the cigarettes he and Eiji had smoked together; here were his gloves with Eiji's studio smell of paint and turpentine and coffee being brewed around the clock. He had pressed them to his face, eyes shut as he let the memory wash over him; he remembered Eiji picking them up where they'd been abandoned messily on the floor and stuffing them into his mouth as he fucked him, muffling all the little sounds Ruki was making; he remembered the tight grip on his hips; how sore and weak he'd felt afterwards. He'd cum, and in the position they were in he had been able to see it splatter the floor below him, and he remembered how Eiji had grinned at him and gripped the back of his head and rubbed his face into it like he was a pet that had made a mess.

He'd laughed then, but his whole body seemed to sting with humiliation now. He had thrown the gloves away.

 

'It's strange, out here,' Kyo said to him.

The day was a clear one with a high, flat white sky, and they had struggled up to a ridge where they could stand and, far off in the distance, see the city of Kyoto glittering silently. Cold, Ruki slipped his hand into Kyo's pocket, feeling a little thrill in the pit of his stomach when the older man took his fingers and squeezed them.

'Strange how?' he asked, and Kyo gave his head a small shake.

'Being here with you, it's like it's not real,' he said blankly, staring down at the city. 'Like something out of somebody else's life.'

Biting his lip, Ruki turned back to look at the sprawling city.

'I know what you mean. With everything that's happened, I feel guilty having moments where I feel happy.' He sighed a soft cloud of white mist and nodded at the view spread out beneath them. 'Think you'll ever go back there?' he asked, and Kyo gave a rough shrug.

'I don't know what will happen.'

'D'you ever think about it?' Ruki asked curiously, and Kyo glanced at him.

'Do you?' he asked, and Ruki gave a small nod.

'I do want to go back,' he said haltingly, 'To art school. I want to finish. I guess I just...I want to prove that I can.'

Kyo slid him another look. 'To Okada?' he asked, and Ruki smiled at him.

'To everyone.' He paused, fighting the urge to light up a cigarette. 'Is it different for you, to get out?' he asked. 'Is it...' he caught Kyo's look and flushed a little, 'Is it – possible for you?'

'Theoretically.'

'So...' Ruki tailed off and Kyo sent him an amused glance.

'My situation is about the same as yours,' he said. 'I can petition the board for release. Being here isn't considered a punishment; I don't have a sentence.'

Nodding, Ruki absorbed that. In the back of his mind a tiny picture was forming no matter how firmly he tried to push it away: imagine if the two of them could get out at the same time; imagine if maybe they could see each other on the outside and do normal things together – walk through the city parks, see films, drink in bars. If they could cook a meal together and eat it only with each other; if they could go to bed together afterwards and know that no nosy nurse was going to come checking up on them.

'What happens when you petition the board?' he asked.

'Your therapist writes a letter of recommendation for you either way, and you meet with the board for assessment. If they think you're not dangerous, they release you.'

'But I'm not dangerous. I was _never_ —'

'To other people or yourself,' Kyo added lightly, and Ruki fell silent.

For a while, the only sounds were the occasional muffled noise of snow falling off trees and, somewhere nearby, the high shrill cry of some lonely bird. Kyo frowned at the distant city.

'Too harsh?' he asked at last, his voice casual but a tenseness visible in the line of his jaw, and Ruki elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

'No, I was just – I don't know. Thinking. Spacing out. So what happens if they think you _are_ still dangerous?'

'You can appeal, but you need a lawyer and an independent evaluation, which takes time.' Kyo shrugged loosely. 'Beyond that, I don't know.'

'If you petitioned, do think you'd get out?' Ruki asked, and Kyo slid him another amused sort of look.

'Are you asking if I'm dangerous?'

Ruki snorted, but eyed Kyo a little nervously. 'I'm just thinking about the future.'

'Yeah?'

'Sometimes I feel like you're the only sane one here,' Ruki said, 'And I wonder how you can stand it, not being crazy in a place where everything else is crazy, and it feels like it _wants_ you to be crazy.' He paused for breath. 'But you have this tenacity. You have this _will_. You have something I never had; and it's just like this sort of – this sort of _rage_ , to...'

Kyo was very still, looking at Ruki's face.

'To survive,' Ruki finished lamely. He sort of shuffled where he stood, shaking snow from his boots.

Kyo's hands, when they touched him, were cold as ice. Slipping past his coat, nudging under the hem of his sweater, they moulded themselves to his bare skin and made him shiver even as he leant into them. He felt his heart start beating faster, rushing the hot blood around his body, and he pressed himself hard into the touch as Kyo leant forward and their lips met; he thought, wrapping his arms around the other man's shoulders, that there was enough heat inside of him to keep the both of them warm.

 

The thing about time, he found himself thinking later, was that it never worked the way you wanted it to. The two of them had arrived back at the sanatorium only just within their hour limit, their clothes powdery with the fresh snow they'd found themselves lying in, and the nurse on duty hadn't said anything but she'd given a meaningful look to the clock as they'd signed themselves back in with chilled, clumsy hands.

The ground had been so cold that Kyo's lips and tongue had seemed to burn. Everywhere they'd touched him, he could still feel his skin smouldering; he wouldn't have been surprised if it had been giving off heat. When he stripped off his clothes to take a warming shower before lunch, he was almost shocked to find that those soft kisses had left no marks on him; part of him had been expecting smooth, shiny scars, like burns. His own hands traced over the places where they would have been, as if he was remembering.

He was still feeling pleasantly light and dreamy when he pushed open the door to his bedroom, and there was a strange flurry of movement as – Ruki's footsteps stopped dead – Uruha's father got quickly to his feet. His face was a little flushed, and behind him Toshiya was sitting on his bed with a strange expression on his face.

'Ruki!' Mr Takashima said heartily, 'How are you?'

Nonplussed, Ruki just stared at him.

'I just made the acquaintance of your new roommate, here. Toshiya, is it?'

Equally silent, Toshiya gave a single nod.

'Well,' Uruha's father said after an uncomfortable moment, 'I should really get back to my son. Toshiya, good to meet you. Think about what we talked about, won't you? It's...' he checked his watch. 'Lunch in five minutes, boys.'

He swept easily from the room, his steps long and confident and quietly Ruki closed the door behind him. Warily, he sat down on his bed and watched Toshiya light up a cigarette.

'You got a letter,' the other man said, and leant forward to toss it across the gap between their beds. Ruki saw Eiji's handwriting on the envelope and, a little self-consciously, he dropped it on the floor and used his bare heel to push it back under his bed. There was a small, scattered pile of them there, still in their envelopes; three altogether, though he would have had four if he hadn't ripped the first one up.

Maybe there was something wrong with him, and that was why he was writing so much. Maybe he was sick or dying, and all the time Ruki was ignoring him without knowing that it would soon be too late. Whenever he touched them the letters felt gritty from their thin film of dust and their thick envelopes were cool to the touch, like something dead.

'What was he doing in here?' Ruki asked, and Toshiya leant back against the wall.

'He said he wanted to say hello,' he said, but there was something just a little off about his voice; a sort of tightness, as though his words were trying to come through too small a gap.

'Right,' Ruki said awkwardly, and Toshiya met his eyes.

'You can stop looking at me like that,' he said drily. 'He touch you too?'

Dumbly, Ruki shook his head. 'Uruha,' he said, and Toshiya looked down at his lap as he flicked ash from his cigarette.

'Bastard,' he muttered. 'Anybody ever tell?'

'Lots of times.'

'They don't believe you?'

Ruki shook his head, and Toshiya sighed. 'He didn't get far with me,' he said. 'Just over my clothes, you know.'

His voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact, but there was an edgy kind of look in his eyes, like he'd been rattled. When he raised his cigarette to his lips, his fingers trembled a little around it. 'We should go to lunch,' he said, getting to his feet, and Ruki chewed on his lower lip as he followed him silently out of the room.

 

In the dining room, the atmosphere was tight, and it wasn't difficult to see why: Uruha was at the table with Aoi next to him, and opposite them both was Uruha's father, sitting in Die's old chair and holding out his hands as if welcoming all the men to his table.

'Sit,' he said jocularly, and Ruki fell into the chair beside Kyo like a stone. On Kyo's other side, Shinya had an intense look in his eyes, and he was staring at Takashima Senior with such force Ruki was amazed the man was still upright. He was chewing on the back of his wrist, too, biting at it agitatedly no matter how many times Kyo attempted to guide it away from his mouth.

In his own chair, Aoi's body was as tense as razor wire, but he looked tired. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his hair was stringy and unwashed, straggling messily around his face; his lips were chapped and his face was pale and there was a sort of sunken quality to his cheeks and arms, as if he had lost a fair amount of weight rather more quickly than was healthy.

It was shocking, how quickly he had visibly fallen apart. He was wearing the institutional clothing provided by the sanatorium – his own clothes had been taken away – and they drooped around his bony-looking frame in an unclean kind of way. There was a few days' worth of stubble around his jaw, and it looked itchy.

His real punishment, Ruki knew, was yet to be decided; the threat was hanging over his neck like a guillotine even if he didn't seem to care that much. It seemed like as far as Aoi was concerned, the worst had already happened to him, but Ruki wasn't convinced. Situations always had a limitless capacity in which to get worse.

 

He was jolted out of his worried thoughts by his tray landing in front of him, and silently he nodded his thanks. Other trays clattered down around the table, but nobody seemed to be in a great hurry to pick up their chopsticks: Shinya was still staring at Mr Takashima, apparently unaware of his food; Uruha was yanking tightly at his own hair; Aoi was watching him with edgy concern.

Toshiya hadn't made a move to pick up his cutlery, either. As Ruki watched he rocked back in his chair, a sharp sort of look in his eyes.

'Is that watch new, Uruha?' he asked clearly.

As soon as he'd brought it up Ruki couldn't imagine how he hadn't noticed it; the watch clasped around Uruha's left wrist was so new it looked raw, so shiny it could have been wet. Uruha didn't respond, just pulled harder at his chair, but Mr Takashima leant forward peremptorily.

'It is new,' he said. 'I was filming in Switzerland recently; I brought that back for him. Piaget,' he added proudly.

'Right, right.' Toshiya rocked his chair back on two legs, that sharp look still in his eyes, 'That makes sense. Because that's what serial molesters do, you see; they give gifts.'

There was a sudden and dangerous silence that was only broken by the sound of Uruha knocking over his cup and the water glugging slowly out of it over the tabletop. Nobody looked at him, though; every eye around the table was fixed on Takashima Senior, and Ruki watched as Uruha's father slowly took in all of them, assessing every dark gaze for a hint of understanding or sympathy. He didn't find any.

'What a silly, careless thing to say,' Mr Takashima said finally, his voice quite calm. 'I can see that you've been talking to Aoi.'

'No, actually, I haven't,' Toshiya said. 'He's not in the habit of saying anything civil to me.'

'One of the others, then,' Uruha's father said, a tight-lipped smile on his face, and Toshiya leant forward in his chair.

'No, it's not that either. It's more about what happened between you and I just now – you know, back in my room, when you tried touching me up and then said if I let you go further without telling, you'd see I got out of here faster?'

Uruha's father didn't stop smiling, but the expression did get tenser on his face.

'You're telling lies,' he said.

'He's not,' Uruha mumbled.

There was a stunned sort of silence.

There was an expression on Aoi's face as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep, and carefully he reached out for Uruha's hand. Ruki was almost surprised Uruha allowed it – Aoi's fingernails were dirty – but he clutched Aoi's palm hard in his.

'He's not,' Aoi agreed, his voice hollow and sort of rusty-sounding from lack of use.

'He's not,' Kyo echoed.

'He's not,' Shinya nodded, half smothering the words in his own palm. Ruki swallowed hard; thought about Uruha's locked door and the strange, intense look on Shinya's face; thought about Kai saying _Uruha's dad is a_ bad _man_ ; thought about the way Uruha had stamped on his father's books until the spines were crushed and the pages were torn beyond repair.

'He's not.'

The five of them stared at Uruha's father, and for the strangest moment, Ruki had the sense that Kai and Die were with them and adding their silent voices; Kai smiling his bright smile and Die skinny enough to snap, ghosts at the feast. It wasn't exactly a good feeling, but it was a strong one, and he took Kyo's hand under the table and squeezed it fiercely.

'Uruha,' Mr Takashima said, his eyes fixed on his son. 'I don't know what you mean by this.'

Uruha looked up silently, his dark eyes strangely shuttered-looking, as if he'd closed something off. There was something unusual about him, Ruki thought, and he realised that the other man was still, for once – completely still. He didn't think he'd ever seen him that way.

'Uruha,' Mr Takashima said again, 'Answer me.'

Uruha swallowed, but stayed silent.

' _Uruha_.'

Uruha's hands were trembling just slightly, Ruki noticed, as with slow, careful movements he unfastened the watch from his wrist and set it down neatly on the tabletop.

 


	36. Chapter 36

'You're confused again,' Uruha's father said slowly, leaning across the table to attempt to look his son in the eye, though Uruha was staring fixedly down at his discarded watch. It seemed to wink innocently in the glow of the ceiling lights.

'Uruha? Uruha, son, you're confused again. You've been listening to other people, but you know what other people are like. You know how they confuse you. You have to trust me; trust your mother and I. We're the ones who love you.'

Ruki watched Uruha's throat go up and down as he swallowed, but he didn't say anything. His hand was still clutching tightly onto Aoi's, his grip so tight that his bitten fingernails were digging lopsided little crescents into Aoi's palm.

'Uruha.'

Silence.

' _Uruha_.'

Toshiya lolled back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, his gaze directed squarely towards Uruha's father. The expression on his face was hard to understand; it wasn't triumphant – not exactly – it wasn't even really happy. It was simply thoughtful, grim in a way that should have made him look older but actually made him look younger, as if he was barely formed.

Uruha's father did something Ruki had never seen him do before: he pulled a silver cigarette case out of his pocket and lit up a cigarette. The case was monogrammed in tiny, sparkling stones, each holding a dazzling point of light that seemed to attract Ruki's eye; he stared until they blurred into rainbows and blinked abruptly.

'Well,' Uruha's father said seriously, 'I hope you're happy. All of you – you sick men. I thought this would be the best place for my son, but you've disturbed him as well. You've made him as unbalanced as yourselves.'

The Adam's apple in Uruha's throat juddered as he swallowed heavily.

'I don't have any illusions,' Uruha's father said, still in that strangely toneless voice, and Ruki saw that he was pointing his smouldering cigarette at Aoi, 'I know this is your doing. Just look at him; look what you've done to him. Playing with his head. Confusing him just because you can. _Muddling_ him into thinking—'

'I am not confused,' Uruha said, his voice very quiet and clear. He laid both his hands flat on the tabletop, his eyes fixed upon his slightly spread fingers.

'Uruha—'

'I am not confused,' he repeated. He did another big swallow; it seemed to be difficult. 'I'm going to be a cartographer,' he said, 'And you can't do that if you're confused. Your mind has to be organised. You always have to know exactly where you are.'

'Uruha, you're talking nonsense. I'm telling you, you've got mixed up again.'

'Aoi isn't unbalanced,' Uruha mumbled as if his father hadn't spoken, his eyes glassy with effort and his pulse visibly thrashing in his neck, his whole body like a coiled up spring, 'He's – he's _normal_. And...I think _I'm_ normal, too.'

'Uruha.' His father's voice was soft, 'Uruha, look at me. I know it's confusing. You are sick. You _know_ you're sick, deep down inside. That's why you have to live here for the time being, remember? Can you try to calm down for me, a little? Try taking a few deep, slow breaths.'

Ruki gripped the edge of the table hard as Uruha closed his eyes and did so. Aoi made a small sound, of surprise or protest Ruki couldn't tell; the tensely uneven line of Uruha's shoulders seemed to sink and soften slightly, and his full lips trembled a little as he exhaled through them.

'That's better,' his father said gently. 'Doesn't it feel better to be calm?'

Minutely, Uruha nodded.

'Bastard,' Aoi said, his voice shaking, but Uruha's father just smiled blandly.

'Quiet, Aoi.'

'You filthy fucking _bastard_ —'

'You know, Aoi, the hostility you've been showing recently has been something of a worry to the staff here. I can quite see what they mean. If you're not very, very careful about what you do and say, you might find yourself upstairs.'

Aoi was quiet, but the look he gave Mr Takashima was jagged with hate. Uruha was still breathing slowly and steadily, and though his eyes were closed the skin around them was reddening slightly, and as Ruki watched Uruha lifted his palms to his face and pressed them against his eyes firmly. He splayed the fingers, and then brought them together again, and then splayed them again, and then brought them together again, twelve times in a row. It was as if he was peeking, but his eyes remained shut.

'You've upset him,' Uruha's father said softly, getting up from his chair and going to his son; he laid a heavy hand on Uruha's shoulder and Aoi flinched. 'You've got him worked up.'

He stood there, as if daring any of the men around the table to contradict him: none of them did. Aoi's gaze was as hard and hateful as ever, but he remained silent; Ruki looked around dully and found Shinya looking miserably at his plate, a thoughtful expression on Kyo's face, Toshiya staring down at the tabletop pensively.

'Mr Takashima?'

It must have been a weird sight, Ruki thought vaguely; all the men in the room jumping at once, turning towards the door – the nurse standing there frowned a little, lifting one hand to pat her neat bun of hair uncertainly.

'Yes, nurse?' Uruha's father was the first to recover himself, answering her politely; his fingers pressed hard into his son's shoulder.

'It's only – Mr Takashima, it's started to snow again. I thought I should let you know...for the drive. You don't want to get stuck here.'

'Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, nurse. I should be heading off.'

He smiled at all of them, and Ruki hated him.

'Goodbye, boys.'

He leant down and kissed his son neatly on top of his head.

 

The snow got thicker over the course of the afternoon, hiding the surrounding hills from view; everything outside of the window was white. Uruha had gone into his bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him, and when Aoi tentatively knocked there was no answer. Everything was quiet, but Aoi stood out in the hallway for a long time.

It seemed that nobody really wanted to be around anybody else. Looking tired and shivery, Toshiya curled himself up on a sofa in the TV room and stared past a talk show; Shinya holed himself up in the music room, playing the piano. Only Ruki and Kyo were together, sitting on Kyo's bed in his cramped dorm, but they hardly spoke. Kyo scribbled away in his notebook, an abstracted look on his face, and Ruki stared at the wasteland outside the window and tried to draw it in as few lines as possible, which was easy. With the snow coming in so thickly, everything grew featureless, all the sharp corners dulled; he quickly gave up. Idly, he started a self-portrait, not looking in a mirror but instead going by feel, moving his fingers methodically over the shapes made by his lips and nose and eyes. He measured his cheekbones against his thumb; brushed his fingertips over his chin. He tried as best as he could to not remember; to try and believe his own sense of touch.

The resulting portrait was an odd one, and Ruki frowned at it, trying to find the collection of lines that might be his true self.

'My lips aren't that big,' he mumbled to himself, and from the corner of his eye he caught a brief smile cross Kyo's face.

'They're sensitive,' he said, and Ruki blinked.

'Excuse me?'

'You drew them larger because they're more sensitive.' Kyo hesitated, apparently searching for the right words. 'If you drew right down to your feet, you'd see it more. All your more sensitive parts feel bigger.'

'My sensitive parts?' Ruki asked innocently, a little thrill rushing through his stomach when Kyo flushed slightly and turned back to his notebook. Smirking, he turned to a fresh page and started where he had left off, at his neck. Going by touch, it felt small to him; so did the one shoulder he was able to fit on the page, bony beneath his sleeve. He tried for his collarbone, found it long-feeling. His sternum was hard and uneven, criss-crossed by small ridges of bone. His nipple did feel large to him, strangely so; he drew it as he felt it anyway, enjoying the weirdly florid look it gave the image.

The tips of Kyo's ears were bright red, Ruki noticed, and the smirk pulled harder at his lips. He had to flip to another page to draw his other shoulder and this time he started with it at the top, feeling carefully down his arm as he drew, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn't be tempted to look; he could feel his muscles and tendons, the pulse in the crook of his elbows and in his wrist, the way his fingers bent around his pencil. Their tips were the most sensitive part; they felt huge to him. On a fresh page he started with his belly, sort of scrunched into unpretty lines from the hunched way he was sitting; he drew in his navel and went down to his hips, feeling as the skin got more and more responsive to his touch the lower he went. His fingers brushed hair and he paused, sliding Kyo a sideways look; the other man appeared absorbed in his notebook but there was something artificial about the set of his shoulders and the way the skin of his neck and cheeks looked warm.

Smiling, Ruki pulled his hand out from where it had crept beneath the waist of his pants, and he couldn't help but give Kyo a small kiss on the cheek.

'Can I try with you?' he asked, and Kyo eyed him nervously.

'Sure you want to do that?'

'Pretty sure. Only...' Ruki tugged lightly at the hem of his T-shirt, 'It'd help if you'd take this off.'

 

There was a pause, and then Kyo obeyed, pulling his T-shirt over his head and dropping it to the side. Carefully, Ruki gestured for him to stand up and then steered him until he was standing before him, almost between his knees where he sat on the bed. He adjusted his sketchbook in his lap, turned to a fresh page, and smoothed it reverently.

This was a time he loved, when the paper in front of him felt fresh and clean full of potential.

Gripping his pencil between his teeth, he picked up Kyo's discarded T-shirt and folded it twice lengthwise, tucking the sleeves in and smoothing it over. Folded like that, it looked more like a short scarf, and Kyo gave Ruki a quizzical look: that look was the last thing Ruki saw before he picked the folded T-shirt up and placed it deliberately over his eyes, tying it tight at the back of his head. He removed the pencil from his mouth.

'I don't want to cheat,' he said, and took a deep breath, trying to get his shoulders to relax and his heart to stop thudding quite so hard; he had the stupid idea that it would jog his drawing. He flexed his fingers around the pencil and ran his free hand across the paper in his lap, trying to find the middle. When he was certain he'd located it, he reached up and touched hesitantly at Kyo's face.

Funny, how different it felt from his own. He could feel the other man's breath against his fingers; he hadn't been aware of that when he was feeling his own skin. He could feel the tension in Kyo's cheek and jaw and forehead, and he smiled.

'Relax.'

'We've discussed this. I don't know how.'

Kyo's voice was flat and sarcastic, but some of the stiffness did go out of his face. Ruki felt him take a deep, slow breath and stroked along his cheek soothingly, pretending he was just feeling for the line of the bone. It was there, sharp against his thumb: as good a place to start as any.

'This way,' Ruki said, his voice quiet over the scratching of his pencil, 'It's not so much like drawing like a portrait.'

'No?'

'It's more like making a map. A globe, or something.' Ruki's fingers traced the outline of the other man's lips, lingered there. 'The only features you get are the ones in relief. Mountains, and valleys.'

'Every portrait you draw is a map,' Kyo said, his words direct against Ruki's fingertips.

'What makes you say that?'

'I've seen them.'

Ruki faltered a little at that, but couldn't seem to keep himself from smiling. 'Keep still, please,' he said lightly.

Mouth, nose, eyes. That little central notch between the points of his upper lip; the way the corners of his mouth seemed to cut deeper than most people's. No smile lines; it was not a mouth accustomed to smiling. He tested the length of Kyo's eyelashes against his fingertip and felt the eyes close beneath his gentle touches, and on the sketchpad before him he assembled a man. Ears, neck, collarbones. He felt the pulse in his throat and the ripple of a swallow; tried to discern where the scars were carved into the skin, white as threads.

New page.

Shoulder, arm, all out of scale with the face he'd drawn. Muscle here, powerful; he felt how it stood out against the bone like a coiled rope. The defenceless skin of the inside of a wrist, and the force that leapt beneath it; he drew fingers, rubbing conscientiously over the wrinkles in the knuckles.

'I feel like a piece of meat you're buying.'

Ruki brought his hand back up to Kyo's face briefly and felt the smile.

'Meat can't talk.'

New page. The longest scar he could feel ran from the centre of his chest directly over Kyo's heart and then under his pectoral muscle, ending in a scrabble around the side of his ribs. The bones were clearer to his fingers than they were to his eyes. The muscles in his abdomen were firm, flanked by his thin hips, and between them he felt the V-shaped lines that seemed to dissect his torso from his lower half; he trailed his fingers along them and then stopped, his breathing a little shallow.

 

New page. He placed the tip of his pencil in the centre of it and hesitated, his fingers spanning gently above the waist of Kyo's pants. Carefully, he felt along the edge where the fabric began, and his tentative hand met another, larger, and cooler, the fingers hooked just a little beneath the hem.

'You can continue,' Kyo said quietly, not sounding exactly like himself, 'If you want to.'

Ruki's thumb outlined a hip, followed it down. 'Are you sure?'

His answer was a short hesitation, and then the sound of clothing being pulled over skin. Ruki's hands lost contact with the body in front of him as Kyo stepped out of his pants and pulled off his underwear, and he bit his lower lip to try to calm himself. Even though he couldn't see anything, the sounds were painting a vivid picture in his imagination, and he swallowed a little dryly.

Ruki felt Kyo's hand close over his and guide it back to his body so his fingers met warm skin again, his palm flattening out cautiously against Kyo's lower belly. He traced a line down from the navel, as if measuring, and stopped when he felt hair, moving his thumb against it experimentally.

'Your pencil isn't on the paper.' The voice from above him was amused but also breathless, and Ruki felt himself flushing.

'Sorry,' he said, quickly readjusting his grip on his pencil and finding the paper. Thighs: that was the best place to start. There was firm muscle here, like in his arms, and Ruki stroked over it carefully, trying to find the angles and the intersections; he drew in the hips again just because they felt right, so delicately hinged on such a powerful body. He stretched his hand as far as he could around the thighs, trying to measure them, and when he couldn't possibly avoid it any longer he allowed his hand to slip between them.

An intake of breath, and then silence. He could feel it, he thought: the vibration in Kyo's skin as his heart pounded in his chest, like a kind of hum; like something more alive than normal. He curled his fingers cautiously around the older man's cock, finding it not all the way hard but certainly not soft; there was a heat to the skin, a silkiness that threatened to undo him; he ran his fingers along the length of it gently, feeling for the shape of it and the size with one hand whilst he drew with the other. His fingers wanted to shake; he forced them not to. Kyo was hardening in his hand, and Ruki grinned a little self-consciously.

'How am I supposed to draw it if it's changing shape?' he asked, surprised by the deeper tone he heard in his own voice. He'd meant it as a joke but he kept his fingers moving slowly, exploring; he heard a soft laugh that turned into a hiss above him as he trailed his fingernail over the head. There was a pulse that beat; he followed it. With his thumb he navigated the peculiar bit of skin that ran between the head and the shaft, the bit that always felt so good when he touched it on his own body.

He wanted to taste it. He leant forward, resting his forehead gently against Kyo's hip as if asking permission; he felt the other man's hand come up and cup the back of his neck. He kissed the top of the older man's thigh reverently, his hand still moving gently, and when Kyo didn't object he shifted a little closer and let his lips brush the base of his cock. Short hairs tickled his nose, and he smiled, feeling how warm the skin was against his.

He licked him, and thought how strange it was to not see him. He thought how strange it was how he could be blindfolded but not feel vulnerable; how it made him feel powerful, instead, feeling his way.

Ruki dropped his pencil; he thought he heard it roll away over the floor. His hands slipped up around Kyo's hips, holding him, relishing the feel of him; he drew his head back slightly and lapped at the tip of the older man's cock; opened his mouth and tasted it; sucked on it and felt Kyo's hand shake on the back of his neck. Closing his eyes against the blindfold, Ruki bobbed his head, a kind of elation in his chest to not be pushed away; to feel the tremor go through Kyo's body and feel it as the other man leant towards him; to hear him breathe his name and imagine him with his head back, his hand moving up to tentatively wind itself in Ruki's hair.

Breathless, he fell back and pulled Kyo with him, his hands still locked tight around his hips; boosting himself up on his elbows he sucked him earnestly, the two of them foundering a little on the bed as the mattress dipped and swayed beneath them; as Kyo tried to support himself with a hand on the sloping wall; as he straddled Ruki's body—

There was a pounding at the door, and they froze.

 

From the outside, Ruki thought grimly, it might have looked comical; the way the two of them jumped so fearfully and violently into action; the two of them tearing apart and Ruki ripping the makeshift blindfold from his face, scrambling to flick to a more innocent drawing in his sketchbook; the way Kyo yanked his clothing quickly back on and flattened his hair down, blushing furiously, the movements of his hands flustered.

'Yes?' he said, his voice clipped but uneven, and when there was no reply he jerked the door open.

The tension left his shoulders, and Ruki sat up straighter to see who it was.

Aoi hung in the doorway as pale as a wraith, and instinctively Ruki hugged his sketchbook to his chest. There was something weird about his face, he thought; something vacant. He brought with him the smell of stale cigarette smoke and a body that had perhaps gone unwashed for a little too long; his hair was greasy and tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it over and over. For once, he wasn't holding a cigarette, and his arms hung limply by his sides.

'Aoi,' Ruki said, stumbling a little over the word, but the dark-haired man didn't look at him; his gaze was fixed on the floor at his feet.

'Sorry,' he said tonelessly, 'to interrupt.'

'We were just—' Ruki started nervously, but Aoi gave a weary shake of his head.

'I don't really care,' he said, still in that same flat voice. 'I just came to say goodbye.'

' _Goodbye_?' Ruki repeated, and Aoi shot him a strange sort of smile – ghostly and somehow grimacing; a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

'Au revoir, but not adieu,' he said dryly, speaking without really moving his lips, 'Uruha's dad made good on his threat. I'm going upstairs for a while.'

'To – the _disturbed_ ward?'

Aoi gave a nod that was more like a twitch.

'That's where they put the real crazies,' he intoned, trying for a smile that didn't quite work. 'You know, the ones that couldn't help it.'

With his face so stiff and his hair lank and the stubble on his cheeks, Ruki thought, he looked like somebody else entirely. Less than that, even – like a shadow, or an impression, or the negative of a photograph of somebody Ruki had never seen before in his life.

'But – the disturbed ward – what does that mean? What do they do?' he asked, and there was that skull-like smile again as Aoi looked towards Kyo.

' _He_ knows what it means,' he said, and Ruki turned towards the older man anxiously. Kyo was looking directly back at Aoi, and he wasn't smiling.

'Shocks,' he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a busy time, but I've got a good backlog of this fic written, happily! Sadly not the case for the other one. Hopefully I'll be able to finish them both before I actually die.
> 
> Also: this wasn't planned to have any of the evil porn in it, and it's probably quite jarring after that scene around the table. Sorry, but the dick wants what it wants. 
> 
> Finally: I'm fond of this chapter.


	37. Chapter 37

'These are your best works, then, you think?'

Standing back, Ruki scrutinised them, frowning a little. The light that streamed into the room was harsh and white from the snow. He stood beside Sato and the doctor was bundled up in a cable-knit sweater and scarf beneath his white coat, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the papers spread out below the window.

'I think so,' he said, his voice slightly doubtful. 'It's been a while since I've really done anything, I—'

'I think these show a tremendous amount of promise, Ruki. You shouldn't be making excuses for them.' Sato paused. 'You're very lucky, you know. You have a gift, and you've managed to turn that gift into a coping mechanism.'

'It'd be luckier to not need a coping mechanism,' Ruki muttered, but when he met the doctor's eye he accidentally gave him a small smile.

'Be that as it may, you've been doing extremely well, Ruki. Toshimasa seems to have settled in as your roommate, and I believe you're having a positive effect on some of the other patients, too.'

Ruki's smile slipped a little, wondering why he would say _the other patients_ when he really meant _Kyo_. There couldn't have been any confusion, he thought irritably: Uruha was more withdrawn than ever, Aoi had been banished upstairs, and Shinya might as well have been living in a bubble for all the notice he took of anything.

Counting them up like that, he realised how few people seemed to be left around him, and he felt something like a deep bruise in his chest.

'So, you're happy to send off these five?' Sato gestured at the drawings, and Ruki tried to force himself to snap back to reality.

'I suppose so. I mean...' he hesitated. 'They're not exactly very pretty, or anything.'

They weren't. Lines crossed through all of them like a tangle of veins, scribbly and obscure; portraits that were actually maps; maps that were actually portraits. Facial features and limbs, codified and classified, the environs neatly sorted; here was Toshiya asleep, Shinya bowed over, Kyo draped over his bed in his habitual way, sitting on his lower back with his chin resting on his chest; just elements of the three of them, hidden behind the lines. Pieces of men, to be assembled. Like flat-pack furniture. Ruki blinked and gave his head a small shake, trying to stop his mind from rambling.

'Let's let my acquaintance Mr Iwamiya be the judge of that,' Sato said gently. 'I know—'

They were interrupted by a sudden shrill beeping sound, and Sato frowned, pulling a pager from his belt and squinting at it. Ruki hadn't even noticed he'd worn one, before.

'Ruki,' he said in a calm voice, 'Do excuse me; I'm needed upstairs.'

'Upstairs?'

'That's right. I will be perhaps ten minutes. Could I ask you to look over your work, decide which selections you'd like to send, and perhaps make a few notes explaining them for Mr Iwamiya? You'll find a notepad and pen on my desk.'

'Sure,' Ruki said woodenly, and Sato gave him an abbreviated smile before disappearing. Ruki heard his shoes squeak away down the polished corridor.

 

So. He wandered idly over to the doctor's desk and seated himself in the big leather chair behind it tentatively, as if it was going to recognise his lack of credentials and suddenly eject him. It was so large it felt like it was swallowing up, and he sat forward uncomfortably. He already knew which five he was going to send; Kyo's eyes, the barest lines of light in them, seemed to catch his from across the room. Toshiya's sleeping face could have been carved from marble; Shinya's frail shoulders seemed spun from glass. He eyed them all a little uncomfortably before fixing his gaze on the desk, running a finger over its polished surface. It was empty but for a pack of cigarettes and the doctor's lighter, a pen and notepad, Sato's nameplate, Ruki's open file and – a new addition – a small anglepoise lamp. Ruki clicked it off. His own file wasn't a temptation; he figured there shouldn't be anything in there he didn't already know: suicide attempt, medicine, behavioural issues, slow improvement. He propped one of Sato's cigarettes between his lips and lit it.

Aoi had been gone for three days, and the silence still felt so acute. It pressed in against his ears like deep water.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, he moved smoothly into action; bending down, he opened up one of the wooden cupboards set into the desk. There were rows and rows of dusty files in there, and with an edgy glance at the clock, Ruki began to flip through them. Most of the names written along their tops were unfamiliar, but every so often he came across the file of somebody he knew and felt a kind of kicking sensation inside: Aoi's file, Shinya's file. They seemed to be organised not by name but by intake date; the earliest was 1961. He flicked through the heavy folders twice looking for Die – he thought the file would surely say if he was still alive or not – but had to give up; it seemed that Die had been the patient of another therapist.

Ruki wondered if Sato might have been better; if he might have been able to help him.

He opened the cupboard on the opposite side, and the first name seemed to blare at him: _Kyo_. Just Kyo, that single character, no last name.

 

Carefully, he pulled the file out and flattened his hand over its surface. It was plain manilla, giving nothing away.

A strange sort of unease seemed to nag at his gut, and he sat up a little straighter. Gently, as if the file was part of the man himself, he laid out the folder over his own on the desk and opened it. It was thick; much thicker than his own was. The first page was an intake form, similar to the one Ruki had signed but with INVOLUNTARY COMMITTAL stamped across the top, and different wording – some legalese transferring the responsibility for a fifteen-year-old Kyo from the Kyoto Prefectural Police to the sanatorium, signed with a smudgy swirl of fountain pen ink and a rubber stamp. He turned the page and discovered a photograph; a mugshot of a lost-looking teenager, eyes inscrutable. Ruki bit his lip, resisting the urge to touch it in case he left a smudge or a fingerprint.

He let out a long, slow breath that seemed to leave his lungs empty and hurting.

Kyo, before he'd known him. The hair was much longer and more ragged; the face was thin and haunted. He held up a placard with a booking number on it but not much else; the spaces for his name and date of birth had been left blank.

He looked at the picture and tried to examine the feeling rising up within him; the meaning of the burning in his chest. The wave of protectiveness he felt was fierce enough to make him want to bare his teeth. The teenager in the photograph was emaciated and filthy, his face strangely blank, as if he wasn't really there behind his eyes.

The hairs on the back of Ruki's neck prickled as they stood up, and be stroked the picture carefully. It was glued fast to a form titled _Intake Assessment_ , and Ruki felt his cheeks flush slightly as he started to read, as if he was being watched. It wasn't typewritten, and the script was hard to read at times: it wasn't Sato's handwriting.

There was a section headed _Initial Observations_ , and Ruki rubbed his forehead worriedly, tasting a hint of blood where he was biting on his lip too hard. He read that the first observations of Kyo had included an _acute psychotic episode,_ as well as _lack of visible remorse, evidence of physical abuse, evidence of sexual abuse, malnourishment_ and _difficulty focussing_ ; each speck of diagnosis followed by a series of untidy bullet points beneath. He turned the page, feeling horribly breathless, and his eyes dropped to a point halfway down that seemed to be screaming up at him:

_Delusional – Kyo has fantasised the existence of a younger sibling (female); maintains sibling is dead and buried beneath floorboards. Becomes aggressive when the delusion is contradicted._

 

Ruki's hands shook as he closed the file. Unsteadily, he bent down and put it back, exactly where it was, nudged in between two other meaningless names; they were little more than blurs. His cheeks felt hot and his eyes were stinging; slowly, he pressed his trembling hands to them.

He couldn't quite seem to catch his breath properly, and he got stiffly to his feet. The eyes in his work followed him blindly as he walked as calmly as he could out of the office, his feet feeling curiously leaden beneath him.

He had lied.

Or did he really believe it?

Ruki couldn't tell which was worse.

_'You have a brother.'_

_'_ Had _a brother.'_

_'I'm sorry.'_

_'You have any siblings?'_

_'Had. My sister. She was ten.'_

He thought of Kyo's steady, deep brown eyes; the way they looked at him, the way they could flatten and go blank just as easily as if he had shut them. He thought of the other man's hands on his, their bodies pressing together, their lips; his head whirled with it, felt stuffed tight.

How disturbed _was_ he to make a person up out of thin air; to imagine that kind of death for them?

Ruki's mind did a weird thing; seemed to get jumbled and spin helplessly backward, clicking into another time: he walked down the corridor and suddenly he was walking out of Eiji's apartment building, hearing the echo of his footsteps and thinking – thinking what – thinking, yes, that he shouldn't have come. That if he hadn't visited that day, Eiji would not have been able to break up with him; that he could have postponed it if he'd just stayed at home. Another day could have made the difference, and his mind had chattered it at him: he could have done something, he could have done something worthy of love; he could have done something to change his mind.

He pushed himself through the door of his dorm, paying no heed to Toshiya, stretched out and smoking on his bed. He dropped himself down on his own mattress and put his hands over his ears.

 _Evidence of sexual abuse_ , his mind screamed at him, and he closed his eyes tightly. Delusions. Sexual abuse. The words seemed stuffed tight in his ears, deep down where no scientific instrument could reach them.

He had let Ruki _touch_ him; how could he have let him touch him without saying anything?

Delusions.

Sexual abuse.

His stomach churned and he retched suddenly, throwing up his half-digested lunch with a spattering sound over the floor; he dimly heard Toshiya's sound of alarm and doubled over, clutching onto his upper arms, feeling himself shiver.

Delusions.

Sexual abuse.

The words wouldn't pull themselves apart. The sound they made together was an angry buzzing, like wasps. Ruki rocked himself.

'...I don't know; he's sick, really sick. He just came in with a weird look on his face and started throwing up, I—'

Toshiya's voice was distant, like it was coming through fog. He felt a cool hand circle his wrist and an arm coming around his waist, and he was getting pulled to his feet. He retched again, his body jerking forward forcefully, and let go of an acrid bile that stung his throat and eyes and nose.

Delusions.

Sexual abuse.

Kyo's face swam before his eyes, first a drawing and then the real thing, then a mugshot, a teenager, all of them overlaying each other, blurring so they didn't make sense.

A woman's voice said in his ear: 'Come on, Ruki. We'll make it yet.'

He allowed himself to be led.

 

'It's the strain,' the nurse said to him, popping a thermometer between his lips, 'There's been an awful lot of upheaval lately, I know. We've all been very impressed by how you've coped, Ruki.'

He thought it might be a few minutes later: he seemed to have done a kind of mental blink that had completely erased the last little bit of time. With the thermometer in his mouth, the only answer he could make was a sort of non-committal humming noise, and he was glad. He blinked dully, crossing his eyes to try and see the mercury inching upwards. Dimly, he recalled the nurse rubbing his back and giving him a glass of water to sip. He looked down and found a cardboard emesis basin in his lap. It was shaped like a kidney.

The thermometer was a slim twig of a thing that tasted like disinfectant and clicked against his teeth.

'What with Die becoming so ill...and now this awful business with Aoi...' the nurse talked on blithely, soft patter that didn't need a response; she leant close to Ruki to inspect the thermometer and then plucked it out of his mouth.

'Completely normal,' she said confidently, giving him a smile. 'Do you still feel sick?'

'Just a bit,' Ruki muttered.

'I can give you an anti-nausea tablet, if you'd like.'

'No thanks.'

The nurse gave him an assessing sort of look. He had been taken behind the nurses' station and sat in a plastic chair, and now she sat on her heels next to him.

'Is there anything,' she said gently, 'That you would like to talk about, Ruki? I know you left your appointment with the doctor early, but if you would like to have another chat, or talk to the head nurse...'

'No,' Ruki said, perhaps too quickly, 'No, it's okay.'

She didn't look convinced, but she nodded.

'Well, the orderlies have got your room all cleaned up now. Why don't you brush your teeth and then go and lie down for the rest of the afternoon?'

'Yeah,' Ruki said vaguely, 'I will. Thanks.'

She set a hand briefly on his hair and then he got to his feet, wobbling stupidly because all the blood seemed to have rushed out of his head suddenly. He sucked in a breath, forced a smile and then traipsed off to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth vigorously, he tried to ignore his reflection.

The thought that troubled him now was that if it wasn't true about Kyo's sister, then how did he know that any of the rest of it was true? How could Kyo know, even, if he was that mixed up?

He spat toothpaste into the sink and ducked his head, shivering.

Kyo didn't look mad, that was the thing – not in the way that Shinya and Uruha could look mad. But then, Die hadn't looked mad either, and neither had Kai, and yet the two of them...

He splashed cold water on his face and drew up, dripping, to glare at himself soberly.

The boy in the mugshot had looked kind of mad. He could see that. He hadn't looked crazy in the TV way, where people pulled loopy faces and made stupid noises; he had looked mad in the real way, the sanatorium way; desperate and lost and sad, stunted somehow, like a flower growing away from sunlight; like a fox in a trap, chewing its own leg off.

And there was so much. Evidence of sexual abuse, what did _that_ mean? What had to happen for it to be obvious to an observer; for it to be written into your skin?

He cringed when he thought back to all the times he'd talked to Kyo about Eiji: all the times he'd complained about how sex with his mentor had often felt degrading, and uncomfortable, and embarrassing. He wondered how Kyo had been able to hold back from laughing at him, or spitting in his face; how he'd been able to just let him prattle on like that, all the while cradling his own darkness safely inside like a vital organ.

 

Ruki turned away from his own reflection and pushed the bathroom door open, feeling sickish again. The door to his dorm had been left open, and all the traces of what had just happened had been removed; the only thing different was that Toshiya was now lying on his stomach on his bed, still smoking – maybe even the same cigarette; Ruki wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed – and he raised his eyebrow when Ruki walked in.

'You okay?' he asked, his voice wary, and Ruki gave a brusque nod.

'Yeah. Sorry.'

Toshiya snorted elegantly.

'Like that's the first time anybody's ever hurled on my floor. I wouldn't mind some warning if you're gonna do it again, though.'

'Noted,' Ruki said, clambering onto his own bed, and Toshiya slid him a look.

'Seriously, are you okay?' he asked bluntly. 'You look like shit.'

'Thanks.'

'Something happen?'

'What do you care?' Ruki said irritably, 'You're not one of us. You're just – just a junkie. You won't even be here in a few months.'

Toshiya rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows.

'Yeah, I am a junkie,' he said dispassionately, 'And I need something to take my mind off how fucking _badly_ I want a hit right now, so maybe you could start talking about whatever it is that's wrong.'

Ruki smiled at that in spite of himself, but then the words from the report seemed to crash into him again and his smile contorted into a strange grimace.

'I don't want to talk about it,' he said, and paused. 'Sorry,' he added grudgingly. Toshiya sighed.

'Suit yourself.' He seemed to deliberate for a moment, and then reached over and deposited something on Ruki's bed. 'Here.'

It was Kai's radio, and Ruki picked it up reverently. He cast a doubtful look at Toshiya and then turned it on, fiddling with the dial slightly to try and get past the crackle of static. The soft hissing resolved itself at length into a song he didn't recognise, and he shot Toshiya a questioning sort of look.

'It's new,' Toshiya explained, wriggling his shoulders into his pillow like a cat, 'Recognise the guitar sound?'

'It sounds like The Beatles. But...'

'Right on. It's George Harrison.'

'What, just alone?'

'Exactly.' Toshiya closed his eyes, smiling contentedly up at the ceiling despite the cold sweat starting to trickle down his temples. ' _I really want to know you_ ,' he warbled blissfully, not quite on key, ' _I really want to go with you..._ '

Ruki considered that the conversation over; he turned onto his side to face the wall.

He had been so stupid, he thought lucidly, to not realise – to not even consider the possibility. The signs had been there, and he had stubbornly looked past them; had refused to see them. It made his head ache, what a mess he had made of things without even trying; what a huge mess everything was already.

'I screw things up,' he whispered, not sure if Toshiya was able to hear him over the music, 'I always do.'

The fact that he could still feel so much self-pity in light of what had happened to Kyo made him feel sick of himself. He wondered what right he possibly had to feel betrayed; to feel lied to.

The teenager's faraway face seemed to hover in front of his eyes, and he closed them tightly.

 


	38. Chapter 38

He begged his way out of dinner that night by saying that he still wasn't feeling well. It wasn't a lie; he felt sick and shivery, almost feverish, and his head was pounding uncomfortably with what he had learned. He lay in bed, facing the wall so that Toshiya couldn't catch his eye and figure anything out about him, and thought about how cool the sheets felt against his hot face; how small he felt being swallowed up by this too-soft bed. When he'd first arrived, he remembered, he'd found the mattress too slippery. Now it felt normal.

When the mealtime rolled around, he could hear them very faintly from down the hall: the clinking sounds of cutlery and glassware but almost no conversation at all: just the sounds of some of the more spirited nurses chivvying things along with little courtesies; tiny smatterings of conversation that buzzed around Ruki's ears like insects. Without being able to discern the words, he could almost predict them: that chirpy greeting was probably for Toshiya, who seemed popular amongst the nurses and even dared to flirt with a few of them; that downward inflection might be Uruha being chided for arranging his food but not eating it; that small encouraging murmur could be directed towards Shinya, who might have been seeing rice and fish and vegetables on his plate but might just as easily have been seeing poison, or a curled up snake flickering its tongue out softly, or the gently smiling face of his own absent mother.

And who knew, Ruki thought tensely, what Kyo might be seeing?

He had no idea how mad you had to be to see somebody who wasn't there. He tried to picture Kyo sitting beside Shinya in the dining room; tried to summon up the expression on his face and in his eyes, and the set of his shoulders and the line of his back. He would be wondering where Ruki was, or perhaps he would know. Perhaps he would be concerned about him. Ruki thought about his big hands and the shape they made around his chopsticks; he thought about how gently those hands held things, how softly they had touched his skin; thought about how those hands had also ripped and torn and killed.

When he had arrived, he thought dully, _everybody_ had been afraid of Kyo. It should have taught him something, but it hadn't; stupidly, thick-headedly, he had managed to convince himself that he knew better. He had let the man's crimes simply run through his fingers like fine sand, and now look where he was – chilled to the core and shivering to discover that the man they'd all called a psycho might actually be mad.

Idiot.

Maybe the file was actually about somebody else, and the man in the dining room was an imposter.

He closed his eyes. He heard when they all scraped their chairs out and got up from the table, and he heard somebody – it could only have been Toshiya, he supposed – put on a record in the music room, and he heard light footsteps coming down the hallway.

A soft tapping on his bedroom door.

He shut his eyes tighter, pretending to be asleep, and at length whoever it was gave up and went away.

 

The next few days formed a pattern: he woke early, and forced his numb-feeling, sticky-eyed body out of bed and into the shower before anybody else was up and about in the halls. He would dress quickly in the bathroom, his teeth chattering with cold, and when he snuck back into his dorm the sky would still be dark outside the window and Toshiya would still be sleeping. He slept in a peculiar sort of way; Ruki couldn't say why exactly but it just felt unwholesome, somehow, the intensity of it – his brow almost furrowed and his arms jammed tight against his blanket and his breaths too quick and shallow, kittenish. He tossed and turned, too, wrenching the covers with him whichever way he went.

Ruki would sit and wait; boredom didn't seem to be a problem, these days. He couldn't tell what his thoughts were; they seemed mostly inconsequential. Every time they wandered too close to something troubling, his mind seemed to swerve somehow, as if it was trying to protect him.

He was aware that he missed Kyo, of course. He was aware of it every second.

It seemed important, though, to never let himself know how much.

In time, the rest of the ward would rouse, and Ruki would sit with a heavy weight growing in his stomach as he waited for breakfast to be called. The first meal he'd had with the other men after finding out, he hadn't known where to sit; he had slotted himself in haphazardly between Toshiya and Uruha and pretended not to notice the sudden sharp, assessing look Shinya had shot him. Kyo had walked in last – he wasn't good in the morning – and he hadn't said anything or given any reaction, really, beyond a single pause by the door: just a slight hitch in his step.

Then, seeming to move more quietly than normal, he had sat himself down next to Shinya and laid both of his hands very flat and still on the tabletop. They had looked at each other only once, but it had been enough; their gazes had not so much met as collided, and when Kyo looked away it was with an inscrutable expression on his face and a hot flush creeping up his neck, and the shape of his back and neck as he'd curled them into himself had seemed to sear itself onto the inside of Ruki's eyelids so that he saw it, a neon-lit shadow, whenever he blinked.

Since that first meal they had sat silently apart, neither of them eating much. The fact that Kyo adjusted so seamlessly should have relieved him, but still that heavy feeling of dread settled into him each time he knew a meal was approaching. Every time he saw Kyo he felt his heart do a kind of sickening lurch, as if it recognised the place where it had once been and was anxious to get back there.

After breakfast each day, he would hole himself up in a corner of the TV room and read a book or stare at the television. He didn't need to worry about seeing the other man there: ever since that first painful meal, Kyo had turned back into a ghost again. Before things had changed, Ruki realised, he had really been coming out of his room a lot more, spending more time with the rest of the group; he wondered how he hadn't noticed at the time. He was the kind of person who could be invisible if he wanted to be: now it wrenched at him to realise that Kyo had at one point chosen to be more visible, and that now that decision had been reversed.

Around eleven the dread would start to build up again, and the two of them would sit in their separate chairs and force themselves through another sticky, cardboard-tasting meal. After that the feeling of tiredness would be so palpable that Ruki would sleep his way clear through the long afternoons, sometimes, waking up groggy and confused to the announcement of dinner. He let the other parts of ward life – Toshiya's stupid jokes and his breezy chatter; Uruha's tapping and twitching and compulsions; Shinya's whispering – flow straight over the top of his head; it was a relief to not have to follow it. After dinner he'd normally drag himself back into bed, and there he'd alternately doze and lie starkly awake, and at some point Toshiya would come in and tiptoe around getting ready for bed, and then the lights would go off and everything would grow quiet out in the corridors.

And then he slept, and then he woke, and another day would drag itself over the horizon.

It was startling, how pointless it all felt.

 

Over the next week, the ward grew colder. The sky was permanently gloomy and loomed with clouds, fat-bellied with snow; the view out of the window was blandly, uniformly white, so much that it made Ruki's eyes seem to ache. The pipes of the heating system groaned in the walls, and although most of the rooms boasted western-style radiators, the heat they gave off was pathetic. The central corridor was the warmest place as it was insulated from the outside by rooms on all sides, and despite the nurses' staunch protests most activity and socialising moved there from the TV and music rooms; it was quite normal to see Shinya sitting cross-legged outside the isolation room with a novel in his lap, or Toshiya dragging the record player up to the door, and Uruha took to lurking outside of Aoi and Die's dorm when he wasn't in therapy or at meals. The door to that room stood constantly closed now, which made it feel empty because Aoi and Die had always kept it open, back in the day, lying on their beds and chain-smoking and catcalling to the people who passed by.

To see it closed felt superstitious, but more than anything it just felt sad. Dead, and finished, and sad.

It wasn't locked, though, and Ruki happened to be walking past one day when he caught Uruha looking inside it with a funny look on his usually stoic face.

Carefully he peered around him and felt the sight of the place hit him like a rock: it had been tidied. The beds were neatly made, the way they never had been before; the ashtrays had been emptied and the incense removed; the red sweater that one or the other of them had wrapped around the lampshade on the ceiling had been disentangled, folded, and put away tidily in a drawer. Gone, too, was the scattering of cast-off clothes and LPs that usually littered the floor, and Ruki instinctively knew that if he reached out to touch Die's record collection – now all stored properly in the orange crates that stood at the foot of his empty bed – he would feel a fine, gritty layer of dust across the top of them.

Uruha caught Ruki over his shoulder and scowled, closing the door with a brisk snap.

'What are you doing?' he asked, his voice strangely raspy. Ruki shrugged.

'Nothing.'

Uruha turned to face him, one hand still clasping the handle of Aoi and Die's bedroom door. The other held a book close to his chest, and Ruki nodded toward it limply. 'What are you reading?'

Uruha uncovered the title: _The Local's Guide to Norway_. Its spine had been mended neatly with sellotape and shone glossily in the overhead lights, but the binding was scuffed and had been crushed out of alignment. From the front cover, Uruha's father's face beamed out against a background of fjords in summertime. Uruha swallowed – Ruki saw it in his throat – and directed his gaze towards the floor.

He didn't seem to want to let go of the door handle; he kept flexing his hand around it, gripping it tighter. His jaw tightened, and he glanced quickly up into Ruki's eyes before looking away again, all the tendons in his forearm standing out under his skin. Finally, with a movement like a flinch, he ripped his hand away and shifted the book from one arm to another – back and forth, back and forth, twelve times in a row. As soon as he was done, he clasped his fingers back around the door handle again. He hadn't changed expression, but there was something harried and stressed inside his eyes; he blinked often, his gaze landing skittishly at different points around the walls and floor.

'You miss them,' Ruki said quietly, 'Don't you?'

No answer.

'Uruha?' he tried, and roughly the other man shook his head.

'No,' he forced, his voice thick and muffled sounding. 'I'm getting out soon.'

He seemed to be struggling; he swallowed heavily. Uncertain of what to do, Ruki made a tentative motion toward him, and Uruha jerked his head back in affront.

His eyes were filmed with tears, though, and as Ruki watched, one finally broke and rolled down his cheek.

'My dad promised,' he said.

 

Later that afternoon, the ward was gathered into the TV room to collect their post; because of the thick snow, deliveries only came once a week now, with everything for the sanatorium bundled together in a heavy sack. The scant collection of letters and parcels struggled to fill even a fraction of the space inside, and although he knew he was being stupid Ruki couldn't help but find it symbolic – a sad reminder, every week, of just how much was missing from them all.

Ruki chose an armchair and watched as Uruha settled himself fastidiously in the very centre of the sofa. There was something huddled in his posture, as though he was trying to leave as much space as possible on either side. Gently, Toshiya sat down next to him, and though Ruki expected Uruha to make a fuss he didn't – he simply sat there and tucked his elbows firmly in and started pleating his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.

Shinya and Kyo were the last in, and Ruki watched as Shinya lowered himself very cautiously into a chair, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his hands clenched on the arms as though he expected it to explode beneath him. Kyo cast a hard look around at the assembled company, as if daring them to laugh, but there was nothing funny about it; Ruki thought he hadn't seen much that was less funny in his life.

'Is that everyone?' the nurse holding the sack asked doubtfully, glancing around the room. Toshiya lit up a cigarette. Shinya covered his eyes with his hands, and Kyo regarded him grimly.

'Well,' the nurse said, evidently feeling a little uncomfortable in front of such a quiet and miserable gathering, 'All right then. Let's see...Uruha, here's a package for you.'

She smiled widely at him as he went up to accept it. 'And do send our thanks to your father for the lovely chocolates, won't you? He's spoiling us terribly.'

Uruha simply snatched his parcel from her hands. He took it back to the sofa and, without opening it, settled it carefully on the empty cushion next to him. The nurse's smile faltered, and she turned back to the sack gratefully.

'Ruki, your turn.' She held up a small packet and a letter and Ruki rose to get them, his cheeks burning; he fought the urge to stuff them away inside his T-shirt, out of sight. It seemed unfair, he thought vividly as he went back to his seat, almost perverse to do this so publicly, when some people never got any letters at all. Kyo, for example; why did he bother showing up? Did they make him, and if so, why? Or could he still hoping for something, after all these years?

'Shinya,' the nurse called, holding a letter high in the air; he didn't move. Hurriedly, Ruki turned his attention to his own post. The small package was the size and shape of a book, addressed in his mother's script; the letter was from Eiji – he could have seen that from across the room, with the fancy stationery and the address written in such an artfully untidy hand on the front. He wedged both down the side of the armchair, feeling uncomfortably warm even in the chilly room. 'Shinya,' the nurse was saying in an overly tolerant tone of voice, 'Come up here and get your letter, please.'

Shinya made a shrinking sort of motion, as if he thought he could disappear inside his own skin.

'Shinya, don't you think your parents would like you to read their letter? Don't you think they'll be upset if they don't get a reply?'

'No thank you,' he said, his voice hardly audible. The nurse squinted at him, like she was double-checking his existence.

'What do you mean, Shinya?'

He looked up at her, eyes huge, and then directed his luminous gaze towards the dead television screen.

'They can see,' he said in a voice that seemed to float, 'They can see me, through there.'

The nurse seemed to flounder for a moment, almost exasperated, and then yanked her face back into a supportive smile.

'Now, Shinya,' she said gently, 'You know when you sat down with Doctor Kimura, he talked to you about televisions, didn't he? All about how they work, and how we can see what's on the screen, but the screen can't see us? How there aren't any cameras? Your parents _can't_ see you. The only people who can see you right now are the people in this room. Now, don't you want to read your letter?' She hesitated. 'Your parents would be very sad if they thought you were ignoring them, Shinya.'

His indecision was a pitiful thing; he inched a hand out, a frail tendril, and then curled it back as if it ever could have reached the letter from where he was sat clear across the room. He ducked his head back and shook it, hands gripping his elbows tightly.

'They'll know,' he said quietly. 'They'll know when I read it. They'll—'

'Shinya,' the nurse said helplessly, 'Don't work yourself up, now. Try to calm down and think rationally.'

'No,' Shinya said, his voice very clear. His hands left his elbows and started to rub at his own ears.

'Shinya...' the nurse crossed the room, her soft-soled shoes squeaking busily, and knelt down in front of him. 'Would you like to sit in the isolation room for a little while? Until you feel a bit calmer?'

'They'll think I'm ungrateful,' Shinya whispered.

'I'm sure they won't—'

'I'm a bad son.'

'Shinya—'

'They'll think. But they know. But I...'

His face crumpled suddenly and he spilled forward, his arms reaching up to clasp at the top of his own head, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. 'Stop _staring_ at me,' he said miserably.

But when she carefully slipped her hands under his arms and started to pull him out of the chair, he went with her as docilely as a lamb. He was crying, Ruki saw, the tears running down his face quickly and silently, and his walk as the nurse guided him from the room was shuffling and old.

Kyo closed his eyes and tipped his head back a little in his chair, and Ruki thought that he looked exhausted.

 

There was a strange quiet in which Uruha picked up his parcel and left, a frown on his pretty face, and Toshiya stretched out his arms and, with a casualness that didn't quite seem real, sauntered over to the sack and dug through what was left. He glanced at one envelope and pocketed it with an unconvincingly careless expression, and then he pulled out another and Ruki saw the muscles in his back stiffen through his T-shirt. He turned around and looked at Ruki questioningly, holding it in the air.

'It's for Aoi.'

Ruki frowned. 'Aoi never gets post.'

His voice sounded cracked and rusty through lack of use; he cleared his throat painfully.

'Can't think why,' Toshiya said lightly, and shot Ruki an uncertain smile. 'Think I should put it back, or...?'

Ruki bit his lip. 'No.'

'No?'

'No, I...' he hesitated. 'If you do that, I'm not sure if he'll get it. I don't know if they'd give it to him.'

He glanced nervously at Kyo in case the older man was going to give some sort of conformation of what life was like on the upper floor, but his eyes were still closed and he was doing an admirable impression of being asleep.

'I think we should put it in his room,' Ruki said finally, 'Under the covers of his bed, or something. So it's hidden, but he can read it when he's back.'

'Ah.' Toshiya's dark eyes met his, and something passed between them: a sort of slotting into place of some knowledge. Ruki watched Toshiya glance at Kyo, and then glance back at him, and although his jaw tensed nervously Toshiya just gave him a mysterious smile.

'Yeah, let's do that,' he said. 'I'll do it now. Then I'm going to lie down, so...' he paused, 'So – that's where I'll be.'

Ruki felt weirdly as if the other man was repeating lines that had been written for him, and his lips felt numb. 'Okay,' he said.

And it felt rehearsed, again, as Toshiya walked out of the room and left them there, sitting in silence. With legs that seemed to shake slightly, Ruki got up and turned on the television. He had no interest in watching it – he couldn't even force his eyes to take in what was on the screen – but he needed something, he felt, to break up the quiet.

At the blare of sound from the TV set Kyo gave a start in his chair; maybe he had been asleep, after all. His eyes met Ruki's almost guiltily.

'Sorry,' he said in a careful voice. He rose to his feet and made to leave, but paused. He turned with his back half to Ruki and his face in profile, the line of his body a strange question mark.

'Can I make it right?' he asked at last, his voice quiet and very neutral. Something about it made Ruki shift uncomfortably in his chair, unsure how to answer; stalling, he lit up a cigarette, but Kyo waited. He was still but for one hand, which picked over and over at the hem of his T-shirt, a rare nervous tic.

All at once Ruki felt far, far too tired to lie, and he stubbed his freshly lit cigarette out.

'I saw your file,' he said expressionlessly, 'In Sato's office. I read parts of it. So I know...' he faltered a little, his voice wearing thin. 'I know you're really...ill. That you're really mad.'

The word had a shocking sound in the empty room, like a slap. Kyo didn't move, and it was quiet for a long time.

'I see,' he said finally, the tone of his voice giving nothing away.

'And you...' Ruki curled his hands into fists to resist the urge to start biting his nails, 'You _lied_ to me. I – I told you about Hiroshi; I _trusted_ you. And you said you had a sister but she wasn't – she wasn't real.'

'I did not lie to you,' Kyo said quietly.

'But you did,' Ruki said tiredly, and Kyo seemed to hesitate before he turned, meeting Ruki's gaze head-on.

'What makes something real?' he said, a little painfully. 'How do you know the things you see are the same things everybody else sees? You have dreams that feel real. So how do you know you've woken up?'

'But—'

'I don't care if she was only in my head,' Kyo said, his voice calm. 'She was all I had.'

'Reality is real,' Ruki said dully, rubbing at his temples, 'Nothing else is. That's...that's just the way it is. That's the way it has to be. If you start believing in things that aren't real, where do you stop? How do you know if _I'm_ even real? Doesn't that bother you?'

Kyo let out a long, slow breath. 'I know you're real,' he said steadily. 'But so was she.'

'It's not the same,' Ruki said numbly, 'Hiroshi – he was my _real_ brother. He was alive. And then he wasn't. He actually lived in this world and I _loved_ him; don't you _get_ that? Don't you see how it's different?'

Kyo looked for a moment as though he was going to say something, but he didn't.

I thought we were the same,' Ruki said, his voice quieter but less even. 'I...were you ever going to tell me?'

'Tell you what?' Kyo asked then, his voice ragged sounding, 'The truth? I did tell you the truth.' He shrugged jaggedly. 'It was my truth. That's all I can give you.'

 

Ruki's head seemed to be buzzing; he tangled his free hand in his hair and squeezed hard, as if it would help. His mind felt thick, confused; he pressed against his own temples until he could hear the blood throbbing in his skin. He lit up a fresh cigarette and pulled on it deeply; it tasted toxic. Kyo's expression had hardly changed at all, but there was something about his posture that made Ruki feel sick with guilt and apprehension, with the danger that he had made some mistake, done something really unforgivable: the set of Kyo's shoulders, high and defensive, as though Ruki was a stranger.

And it happened with the sight of him standing there like that – all alone in the middle of the floor, his angular body braced for an attack and his head gently lowered – a sudden rush of feeling through Ruki's body, not just of blame and fear but of a fierce protectiveness; a desire to wrap his arms around those stiff shoulders and kiss the bent head, to comfort the rigid body; to snarl at anybody who might interfere. He took a deep breath, clutching at his head harder than ever; it felt too much; he felt full.

It was the first time they'd spoken since Ruki had read his file, and it was breaking Ruki's heart because in ignoring the other man and avoiding him, all he had managed to do was to shut out the fact of how much he still wanted him.

Even if he was completely insane, he still wanted him. He wanted the wry little twist Kyo's lips did when he found something funny, and the uneven gruffness of his voice, as though he hadn't used it for years and years and it had never quite recovered; he wanted the way he spoke so quietly, and so slowly, not at all like Ruki's nervous chatter. He wanted the way he sat stiller than normal people sat, like a cat; he wanted the feeling of warmth that came from knowing that Kyo was sitting beside him and yet expecting nothing from him, content to just be. He wanted the frisson that went through him when their arms brushed; when their hands touched.

Most of all he wanted the feeling of contentment he seemed to have lost; that strange sense of rightness, of belonging.

He thought that was why, looking at the jagged, wounded angle of Kyo's body, he felt so deeply bereft.

 

'You shouldn't have read it,' Kyo said at long last, and Ruki nodded. There was a ringing in his ears that he couldn't seem to clear; he swallowed over and over.

'I'm really sorry,' he said unevenly.

He risked a glance up at the other man's face even though he knew it would hurt: he could see him struggling with something there, his eyes distant and dark.

'It was private,' Kyo said painfully.

'I know,' he whispered.

The silence between them felt big then, felt related to the fumes of the thousands of cigarettes that had been smoked in the room they sat in; something heavy and poisonous, smothering out the fresh air.

'Why did you do it?' Kyo asked finally.

'I don't know.'

There was a mixed up sort of excuse in his head, something tied up in the way Kyo had always been so mysterious, always so closed off when it came to his background; how Ruki had just wanted to know; had just wanted to feel like they knew each other. It didn't feel good enough. He thought about all the little flares of honesty between them – everything Kyo had told him, the forthrightness of his voice as he had done so; every moment they'd spent together; Kyo letting him touch him, letting him put his lips on him.

Mad. Crazy.

The first time they'd kissed, and feeling like he really meant it.

Insane.

He had been, he realised, so stupid.

'I wanted to know if you were crazy,' Ruki admitted softly, his eyes falling closed so he wouldn't have to meet Kyo's gaze. 'If you would ever get out; if...'

'Why,' Kyo asked, no question mark in his voice, and Ruki shrugged.

'Because I was scared,' he said hollowly, 'that I might be – that I could have been falling for you.'

It was a feeling so desperate it made his head spin; made him clutch at himself so he wouldn't simply fly apart.

Silence.

It stretched on for so long that Ruki felt his cigarette burn down to his fingers, and he let it fall to the floor because his arms felt too heavy to reach for an ashtray. It smouldered until it extinguished itself there, giving off a sharp, chemical smell.

'I would have told you,' Kyo said at last, his voice uncharacteristically heavy and shaken-sounding, 'Everything. I just needed time.'

Ruki felt a tear trickle down his cheek. 'I know.'

And it was ridiculous, stronger than him no matter how violently he wanted to rail against it; the urge to be the one to walk out, to leave before he could be left.

Ruki found himself getting to his feet. He walked out of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, this was the chapter of 101 iterations. Like I wrote it, and then I wrote chapters 39 and 40, and then I went back to this one, and then Everything Stopped...
> 
> I literally have no idea if it's any good any more; it's super long, really bitty, and probably too overwrought too quickly. I seem to have developed a weird block with this one though, so at 4am I'm gonna have to bite the bullet and say that this is probably as good as it's going to get. Sorry if it's weird or poor. _Yikes._


	39. Chapter 39

He could see his mouth moving but the doctor's voice sounded bubbly in his head, as though he was underwater. He let his aching eyes fall shut and rubbed at his ears irritably.

'Ruki?'

He imagined the air around him was cool, clear water. He imagined he could float suspended in the middle of it all, silent as a shipwreck, so he could finally stop falling.

He opened his eyes to see Sato peering searchingly at his face.

'Sorry,' he said listlessly.

'I was saying,' Sato said without a hint of impatience, 'That there's really very little point in you attending these sessions if you aren't going to speak. _Talk_ to me, please.'

'Sorry,' Ruki repeated, dully.

'I do have an incentive, as it happens,' Sato said, and with a raised eyebrow he leant back, slid open a drawer of his desk – the gentle rasping sound it made was horribly familiar, and it made Ruki ache with guilt all over again – and pulled out a letter. Ruki frowned.

'It's from Iwamiya,' the doctor explained, a small smile visible beneath his neat moustache, 'And, not that I'm bitter, but he rarely writes back to me as quickly as he's written to you.'

'To me,' Ruki repeated hollowly, his words seeming to drop to the floor with a thunk. He thought he saw Sato's smile grow a little forced, but it could have been his imagination.

'About your work, Ruki,' the doctor said gently. 'It's your letter and I haven't read it; I don't know if it's good news or bad news, or any news at all. However, I'm not going to pass this letter over to you until I feel certain that you can handle whatever the contents may be; the way you are right now, I'm sure you can see why I'd be erring on the side of simply keeping it in my desk drawer for a few more weeks.'

'Yeah,' Ruki said tonelessly, and Sato leant forward. His leather chair creaked.

'What has happened?' he asked plainly, lacing his fingers together over the desktop. 'Setbacks aren't uncommon, but the change in your demeanour recently has been troubling, Ruki. The nurses are telling me that you've withdrawn from your friends; that you're not creating any artwork any more; for the past two weeks you've sat in front of me and hardly said a word.'

'Nothing's happened.'

Sato smiled at him kindly. 'Liar.'

Ruki busied himself lighting up another cigarette. He didn't want one; he felt ill already. He wanted the window open, but he could see how thickly the snow was falling outside. Several short icicles had grown from the little overhang above the windowpane; he watched them thoughtfully.

'Ruki. I know I don't mean to remind you that these sessions are confidential; that this is a safe space for you. We've been working well together, I've thought, these past few months; I've enjoyed having you as my patient.' He paused. 'Please, do try to have faith in me. I've not done anything to break your trust yet.'

'Are you allowed to guilt-trip me,' Ruki mumbled shortly, and the doctor smiled.

'If it's for a good cause, yes.'

Ruki sighed. 'I can't tell you anything,' he said.

Even to him, his voice sounded stilted and fake, and he examined the end of his cigarette. He was finding it easier to do that, in recent days; finding his attention easily eaten up by a song on the radio, or by the sight of his cigarette flame slowly burning its way through the paper and flaring with his breaths, or by the rhythmic clicking of Shinya's chess playing.

'I see. Why is that?'

Ruki just shrugged, and Sato sighed.

'Indulge me, here. If you don't feel like speaking, then how about this: I'm going to ask you a few questions – just very easy, yes or no questions – and I'd like you to hold up one finger for yes, and two fingers for no. Think you can handle that?'

Ruki sent the doctor a filthy look and he smiled, looking supremely unconcerned.

'Wonderful. Let's have a warm up. Sample question: is your name Ruki Matsumoto?'

There was a pause, and then grudgingly Ruki raised one finger. He chose the middle one, and held it up to Sato defiantly.

'Very good, your name is indeed Ruki Matsumoto. Now: you've been acting particularly unhappy recently. Are you feeling very unhappy?'

He kept his middle finger up, and Sato nodded.

'I see. Would you say that you're feeling unhappy because of a problem with your art?'

Two fingers. Ruki took a shaky drag of his cigarette.

'Are you feeling unhappy because of a problem with a particular person, or personal relationship?'

His tongue tasted like dead ash. 'This is stupid,' Ruki muttered.

'Indeed,' the doctor said. 'Maybe you'd like to use your words instead, then. So, is it a person?'

'Yes.'

'A person here, or at home?'

Ruki sent him a withering look, and the doctor hesitated. 'Help me out here, will you?'

'I can't tell you,' Ruki said from between gritted teeth, 'Because if I do you'll think I'm crazy and you'll keep me here longer; don't you _get_ that?'

'You're not crazy.'

'Believe me on this,' Ruki said moodily, and thought he saw a brief smile cross Sato's face.

'All right, I'll believe you. But if I'm correct about what I think you're referring to, I can promise you that it won't be mentioned in your file. Not now, or ever.'

Ruki felt a queasy thump of panic in his chest, and ground out his cigarette.

'How am I supposed to believe that?' he asked, his voice trembling, and Sato shrugged.

'I suppose you'll have to trust me. And it's difficult for you, I know, because you're bad at trusting people. You feel like they leave you whenever you do. You feel like trusting people is scary; you feel like it's maybe a waste of time. You feel like every time you've put your faith in somebody, they've abandoned you; that you trusted your parents to give you all their love and they didn't; that you trusted your brother to stay by you and he didn't; that you trusted your mentor to love you but he didn't.' Sato paused. 'Not the way you loved him.'

 

Ruki's face felt like a mask; stiff. His mouth was open, but he couldn't close it; he made a stupid noise in the back of his throat and Sato did something he'd never done before; he got up, came around the desk and sat in the chair by Ruki's side. Delicately, he laced his fingers together again, looking not at Ruki's face but out of the window.

'It is not in your file,' he repeated, his voice quiet, 'It will never be in your file. Trust me, Ruki. It makes no difference to your diagnosis; it makes no difference to how long you'll stay here. There are possible differences it will make; do you want to know what they are? Number one, it'll mean that we might do some work together about healthy, respectful relationships. Number two, it might mean that you finally get to be completely honest with me, and therapy can be a wonderful thing, Ruki; it can _work_ , if you're honest. If you let it.'

Ruki heard his own voice saying: 'How did you know?'

'The way you spoke about him. It was clear he'd hurt you more than anybody else.'

Ruki was quiet, pressing his lips together for a moment. 'But,' he said suddenly, 'But _Aoi_ —'

'—Is not well,' Sato interjected gently. 'But his problems aren't ours to discuss; that's between Aoi and his doctor.'

'But he's here just because he's gay; that's what he said.'

'It's his choice what he chooses to reveal to you,' the doctor said carefully. 'Aoi hasn't had an easy time.'

'But—'

'This is all I'm going to say about Aoi, Ruki. I'm sorry to rebuff you, but I know you can understand that it's his business, and that he deserves to have his confidence kept just as much as you do.'

Ruki's mouth felt dry, and his head seemed to spin peculiarly. Jerkily, he nodded.

'I read Kyo's file,' he said, 'When you left.'

Next to him, Sato stilled. He seemed at a loss for words for a few moments; he leant over and retrieved the packet of cigarettes that lay on his desk, lighting one up.

'That was – very, very wrong of you.'

'I know,' he said miserably. 'I know.'

The doctor was quiet for a moment.

'Why did you do it?'

'I...I don't know. I saw it and I just...I wanted to know. He keeps so much to himself, or I thought he did. But he's been telling me.'

There was a small silence in which Sato tactfully passed Ruki a handkerchief; it smelled of laundry.

'He's been telling me all along, and I just didn't listen,' Ruki said, his voice thick. 'I thought he'd lied to me – or – I don't know what I thought, really. I got scared. I didn't know how I was feeling about somebody who might be – who might—'

His voice cracked suddenly, and he felt his shoulders do a violent shake as he pushed his trembling hands in front of his eyes. Their memories seemed to circle him, pressed into his brain, carved maybe into the inside of his skull: Hiroshi, Eiji, Kyo. Waiting outside school for hours to be picked up by his parents, rain seeping into his shoes; pressing desperately on the buzzer for Eiji's flat and shivering in the November wind; Hiroshi, his handsome face wasted down to almost nothing, trying to drink through a straw. Kyo standing in front of him and Ruki suddenly able to picture the scene from the outside; his own blindfolded self raising his hands to touch and Kyo letting him, his whole body bare, completely vulnerable.

He wasn't sure which of them he was crying so hard for: maybe it was all of them. Crying in Sato's office; he thought he would feel ashamed – was dimly aware that he _should_ feel ashamed – but he couldn't bring himself to be. It just felt too clean, too painful, like he was bleaching his insides until they were pure again; like his tears were boiled water. Whatever burning, tangled mess had been existing inside him and poisoning him, it seemed to be slackening slightly; the knot his heart was in seemed to be easing.

He felt purged, and so he leant forward and cried roughly into his hands, taking the doctor's silence as confirmation that it was okay to do so.

 

It wasn't until early in the evening that it finally stopped snowing, and the sky started to clear and darken. The first few stars that came out appeared dim and hard and somehow brittle, like shards of some crystalline rock; Ruki hovered by the window and watched them. As the sky grew darker the reflection of his face got clearer and clearer, and it was appalling to see how tired and used up he looked.

Sato hadn't given him the letter, of course. He was aware that he should have cared, but he couldn't seem to manage it. Even the thought that an opportunity could be slipping through his fingers didn't worry him the way it might have done before; he experimented with allowing the thought into the forefront of his mind and watched his reflection as his face hardened.

He deserved it.

What he hadn't been able to tell Sato was how strangely paralysed he felt; that he wasn't just not drawing because he was miserable, but because the act felt pointless – felt inadequate, almost.

Now, standing in front of the window, he realised that whenever he had drawn before it had always been fuelled by some kind of fierce emotion, spilling over into his work like ink: sorrow at the loss of his brother, lust for Eiji, the tense boredom of being locked up day after day. This, though – the feeling that opened up within his chest whenever his eyes met Kyo's in the dining room or whenever the other man happened into his mind – it felt impossible, too big. How to express it; how to channel all of that wild, unwieldy feeling? Like trying to thread an ocean through a needle.

He wondered, briefly, if this was how Kyo had felt to have his secrets so violated: as though he had been flayed entirely open.

Sucking in a slow breath, Ruki turned away from the darkened window. The television was was on and the scene before him was a strange one: Uruha had placed himself in the very centre of the sofa again, his positioning so precise he might have measured it with a ruler. He held a book in his lap but it was obvious he wasn't reading it; he hadn't turned a page since he'd sat down and opened it, and his gaze was glassy and unfocussed and the only still thing about him; over the last few weeks, his compulsions seemed to have gotten worse. Now as he sat he blinked his eyes in a timed sequence, touched his chin to each of his shoulders in turn, cleared his throat often. He wore the shiny Piaget watch on one thin wrist but it seemed to be bothering him; he rubbed that wrist hard against the seat of the sofa, like a dog trying to scrape off a collar; in time he started rhythmically banging his wrist against his own knee, and then his shoulder, flinching agitatedly.

In the old days, Ruki thought, Aoi would have been able to stop him. But now he wasn't here, and neither was Die, and there was nobody else Uruha allowed to touch him.

He wasn't alone on the sofa: by his side sat Toshiya, all long gangly limbs, focussed on the television – it was tuned into some kind of comedy show; the audience kept laughing in an artificial sort of way – and whenever there was a swell of response, Toshiya would smile and nudge Uruha, or at least make a gesture towards the air around him, as if trying to draw him in. On the floor a few feet away from them, Shinya was huddled over the chess set, his delicate hands arranging and rearranging the pieces over and over in a fluid, endlessly varying sort of pattern that Ruki couldn't follow.

Each and every one of them looked hopeless.

His mind seemed to be going very dim and quiet.

 

'We should _do_ something.'

Ruki blinked, unsure of how long he had been drifting for. He had been thinking of the day he'd been kicked out of his school; how his tutor had turned kind, pitying eyes on him and asked _doesn't your work interest you, Ruki?_

He remembered how he had felt like screaming his answer, as if that would make it more convincing.

It was Toshiya who had spoken; he was still sitting on the sofa but his posture was different, less relaxed; he was digging his fingernails into his upper arms and his knees were pulled up to his chest so that his legs made a violent zigzag shape.

'Like what?' Ruki asked dully, and Toshiya bit down on his lower lip.

' _Anything_ ,' he said. 'Watch something together, put on a record, play cards, play monopoly; _anything_.'

'I'm trying to read,' Uruha said in an irritable tone of voice, and Toshiya immediately let his body slump to the side, his chin resting on Uruha's shoulder.

'Yeah? Whatcha reading?'

Uruha gave him a very dirty look and shrugged him off.

'Get lost,' he said lightly. 'I don't want to talk to you.'

Toshiya closed his eyes for something longer than a blink, but then rocked backwards and used the forward momentum to power himself smoothly up off the sofa and onto his feet. He moved around the room almost too quickly, making it look smaller.

'There must be something to do for fun,' he said, a relaxed smile on his face but an edgy sort of look in his eyes, 'I mean – there must be _something_.'

Fun: Ruki turned the word over in his mind dimly. In the old days, he realised, Aoi and Die had been the entertainment: they had, in their own obnoxious way, dragged the light in. In his head they danced together, spoke in unison, lit up cigarettes; he scanned his eyes desperately across the room and his mind showed him a snapshot of Die standing on the polished floor, legs spread apart to keep himself upright and Aoi's pale foot braced in his hand. He'd been struggling more than he let on, Ruki knew, to support the other man's weight; Aoi had...had what? Had tossed his hair back; tied some more balloons to the ceiling for Kai's birthday.

_'I have great feet. Die, aren't my feet great?'_

He saw it clearer now than he had done then; the way Die had looked up at him, the lightness and softness glowing in his eyes even as he'd flung back some sort of sarcastic retort. It was a look that had never faded, even through all their violent rows and cold silences and Aoi's stiff orders to eat, delivered from between gritted teeth; no, it had never gone away, and the worst part – the part that hurt – was the realisation that it was that warm, luminous look that had been the _real_ Die; the part of him that struggled against his traitorous mind; the part that had pushed back. His skeletal frame, breathlessness, weakness – that had all been something else; some imposter. Hiding food and making himself throw up, his skinny body contorting into sit-ups on the hard music room floor. Camouflage.

He wondered if Kai would be disappointed if he knew how broken and ruined and torn apart their little group had become.

 

He twitched suddenly back into reality: Shinya was looking up at Toshiya with his big, round eyes, fingers playing nervously with the ends of his hair.

'Stop walking around like that,' he said, and Toshiya halted his nervy pacing uncertainly.

'Sorry.'

Uncharacteristically, Shinya just shook his head, turning back to his chess set. He was really no more than stirring the wooden pieces around, Ruki thought, and Toshiya shot him a doubtful sort of look before edging closer.

'Are you all right, Shinya?' he asked, his voice more polite than he normally cared to make it, but Shinya didn't give him any response. He shook his head, but not like he was saying no, more like some small fly was buzzing around his head and bothering him; he tilted his head to the side, as if he was listening out for some sort of sound that only he could hear.

Carefully, keeping his movements very slow and calm, Ruki started to move towards him. Toshiya was closer; he squatted down on his heels on the other side of the chess set, and Ruki felt a warning on the tip of his tongue but bit it back.

'Hey,' he said gently, 'I'm sorry I was moving around so much. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

' _You're_ the bad one,' Shinya mumbled, and Toshiya gave Ruki an anxious sort of glance.

'Shinya,' Ruki tried, his voice gentle and coaxing, 'Nobody's bad. Do you...do you want to speak to one of the nurses, maybe?'

Without any warning, Shinya suddenly slapped himself sharply across the face: the sound of it seemed to ring around the room for a moment. Tears sprung to his eyes and Toshiya made a startled little yelping sound, but Shinya's face remained still and just faintly miserable.

'Shows what _you_ know,' he said. The sound of him was a shock; it was the loudest Ruki had ever heard him speak, and it was obvious he wasn't used to it; his voice came out croaky and seemed to threaten to collapse, and the tone of it was spiteful and harsh. It made it feel like it wasn't him talking at all; it made Ruki think of ghosts and demons, something that might have crawled inside of him and started to manipulate his mouth like a puppet.

'Shinya,' he said again, pointlessly, and Shinya started rubbing agitatedly at his ears.

'You can all be quiet,' he muttered, 'Because I'm not going to do it. Not this time, absolutely not.'

'We should get somebody,' Toshiya said fearfully, but to Ruki's surprise, he stretched out and covered Shinya's tightly fisted hand gently with his own. 'A nurse, or...?'

'They'll only drug him,' Ruki said worriedly, and Toshiya gave him an exasperated look.

'Is there much alternative? _Hey_ —' he grabbed at Shinya's free hand as he jerked it upwards to strike himself again, and wrestled it back down by his side, 'Don't hurt yourself, okay? Just sit tight—' he looked back towards Ruki, widening his eyes meaningfully, and Ruki gave him a quick nod as he scrambled out of the door, his heartbeat skipping oddly in his chest.

The corridor was deserted, the nurses' station empty even though it wasn't supposed to be. He turned stupidly, as if a white uniform might suddenly materialise behind him; he knew, logically, that there had to be nurses around; that perhaps they were sitting around chatting and playing cards in the dining room; that perhaps...

His feet started to take him down the corridor, and he forced himself to pound on the door before he could lose his nerve. He waited a split second for an answer, and then knocked again, feeling his knuckles bruise from the force he was using; the door swung wide, and he realised from the sudden sharp pain and the taste of blood in his mouth that he'd just bitten down hard on his own tongue.

Kyo looked sleepy, as if he'd just woken up, but when he saw Ruki his eyes became instantly alert, and his body stiffened.

'It's Shinya,' Ruki babbled, his voice coming out high and fast, 'He's freaking out and I can't find a nurse. Please come.'

Kyo didn't answer straight away, just blinked, and Ruki had a tiny moment to savour the appearance of him, to gather as many tiny details as he could: his wrinkled clothes drooping slightly from his frame; the pillow creases across one cheek; the bluish shadows under his eyes. His hair was rumpled; he ran a hand through it. He looked paler, to Ruki's eye, and smaller.

He looked, he thought, so beautiful, and he clenched his fists tight to stop his hands from reaching out for him.

'Okay,' Kyo said, his voice deep and hoarse from sleep, and together they set off down the hallway.

 

In the end, it was nothing miraculous. Rubbing his tired eyes, Kyo had simply gestured for Toshiya to back off a little, and then sat down beside Shinya on the floor. Their conversation had been too quiet to hear, for the most part, but Kyo seemed to be agreeing with him a lot; he nodded often, the movement gentle and hypnotic, and gave short, soft-sounding answers to Shinya's hasty tumble of words – more words than Ruki had ever known him to say. He and Toshiya retreated awkwardly to the wall by the window, and Ruki focussed on the patch of floor beneath his feet so that he wouldn't have to watch.

His hands were shaking, and it had nothing to do with Shinya.

He couldn't help but feel that he had wounded himself in some serious and obscure way; it wouldn't have surprised him if he'd found that he was bleeding.

He could convince himself, if he tried, that he had seen some brief flicker of something warm – hope, affection – in Kyo's eyes as he'd opened the door, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't true.

Wordlessly, Toshiya reached out and gripped his arm. Ruki tried to smile at him, but it came out more like a grimace. He stared at his shoes as Kyo got to his feet and carefully guided Shinya up with him; he heard it as Shinya stumbled over the chess pieces still scattered over the floor. The two of them went off down the corridor, Kyo not so much as looking back.

Ruki let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for a long time, and because he didn't want to look Toshiya in the eye, he took himself dully off and let his body fall into an armchair.

 

The rest of the evening seemed to pass in a dazed kind of way, without any clear shape to it. Ruki was aware of Uruha making agitated little noises over his book, and of Toshiya hovering by the window, but what was the point of it; of any of it? The chess pieces over the floor looked like a crime scene; like a massacre on a tiny scale.

Sleepy, Kyo had looked softer than usual, all the hard angles of his face blunted.

He wondered if anybody had ever told him that he was beautiful, and he felt sick and hollow at the thought that he'd had the chance so many times, but hadn't done so. What had he imagined to be more important than that?

Maybe an hour passed; the sky was completely black outside the window, deep and cold looking, and Toshiya was staring out at it watchfully. The only sounds were soothing ones; the sound of Uruha's hair brushing over his shoulders as he moved; the occasional hoot of an owl from outside; the sound of car tyres coming up the gravel drive. From by the window, Toshiya made a strange sort of noise; Ruki ignored it. Everything felt far away anyway, sort of like a copy of a copy, just that vague and indistinct.

He felt it more than saw it when Toshiya came and perched on the arm of his chair. Gently, in his no-nonsense way, Toshiya reached down and wiped Ruki's cheeks with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

'Hey, Ruki?' he whispered. 'I think I've got something that'll cheer you up.'

'Yeah,' Ruki said dully, meaning it as a question except it sounded too flat.

'Yeah.'

But there was something strange about Toshiya's voice, a sort of barely-restrained quality that reminded him of a pot that was just about to boil over. Wearily, he raised his eyes to his roommate's face and watched as it split into a nervous grin.

'Ruki,' he breathed excitedly, 'Die's back.'

 


	40. Chapter 40

For what felt like a long time, nothing happened. The corridors remained empty, and the only sounds came from outside. With a casualness that was almost convincing, Uruha set down his book and strolled over to the window, opening it wide and pressing his face hard against the bars to peer out.

'That's their car,' he said, though he didn't see to be speaking to anybody in particular.

He wrapped his hands tight around the bars and squeezed, and Ruki realised for the first time that each of his fingers was entirely covered in sticking plaster, a dull reddish colour against his pale skin.

He must have been biting his fingernails again.

It felt like taking off dark glasses: the way everything suddenly seemed clearer, sharper, bright enough to hurt his eyes. The plaster wrapped around Uruha's fingers was the colour of brick, contrasting lividly against the bone-whiteness of his skin; he was banging his left wrist absently against the sharp flare of his hipbone and an ugly bruise was starting to spread up the inside of his arm. His fancy watch glittered innocently in the overhead light.

Neatly dressed, perfectly coiffed as always, he looked a mess. He had huddled himself tight against the bars of the windows as if he expected time to reverse itself and Die to step out of his parents' car again; his fingers gripped tight as if he could have snatched the memory from Toshiya's mind and kept it for himself. A pulse was flickering visibly in his neck, and when Ruki came up closer behind him he could see in the window's reflection how savagely he was biting at his lower lip; how it bled; how he seemed unable to blink but instead was winking each eye shut separately in a precise, desperate sort of pattern.

After that, the whole room seemed to be more defined. He saw the edgy, jittery energy pent up in Toshiya's long limbs, draped artlessly in the sanatorium's shapeless clothing; he saw the muscle working in his jaw, the way he drummed his fingers and tapped his feet, the caged-animal look in his eyes. He saw the chess pieces scattered over the floor and heard in his mind again the crack of Shinya's own open hand against his face; saw the unfamiliar shape of his lips making spiteful sounds; saw him wandering behind Kyo like a ghost down the corridor. He looked down at his own body and touched his own hair gingerly with his hand, trying to remember the last time he'd showered: it had seemed like such a pointless task that he hadn't been able to make himself do it that morning. And the day before...he cringed, running his hand self-consciously through his hair, and pulled out the neck of his T-shirt to give himself a surreptitious sniff.

He could smell his own skin but, more prominently, the smell of disinfectant coming off the walls and floors.

He wondered how Die could possibly have stood it, the thought of coming back.

 

There was no noise – no signal was given – but at just a little after ten o'clock, a small flock of nurses appeared in the corridor, as if some god had taken the blinding white cleanliness of the hallway and fashioned it into people.

'That's their car,' Uruha repeated, dumbly, and because he could not chew on his nails he chewed on his knuckle instead. 'Of course, he'll have to sign the papers. Do the paperwork. It takes time.' His face was impassive but his eyes had a glittering, hectic look to them, and although he stood quite still in the doorway to the television room he gave off a crackling sort of energy that made Ruki feel edgy.

Toshiya, too, went and stood behind him – leaning against the wall, as if casually – and Ruki found himself joining them, sticking his hands a little shyly in his pockets and rounding his shoulders to make himself less obvious. From the their position they had a good view of the permanently locked door that led to the stairwell, and looking at it made Ruki's ears play tricks on him; made him feel like he could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. They couldn't have been real because they seemed to climb forever; they timed themselves confusingly with his scatty rabbit heartbeats and blurred into nonsense inside his head.

Normally the nurses would have been ushering them into bed by now but they, too, were waiting. The clock ticked.

When a key scraped in the lock, Uruha performed a kind of jump, and his jaw set itself.

'It won't be him,' he muttered very fast under his breath, 'He got it wrong. It won't be. They—'

The door swung wide open.

It was him, of course.

 

Ruki's first thought was that it felt like seeing a ghost: up until that moment, he realised with a pang, he had not truly been able to believe that Die was still alive.

He stood at the top of the stairwell with an embarrassed sort of grin on his face, and whilst he greeted the nurses who came to welcome him back with his usual friendliness, his lack of focus was almost comical: his gaze jumped searchingly over the tops of their heads, seeking out the faces of his friends where they stood as if paralysed in the doorway.

Ruki couldn't have moved if he had tried. Standing there, unthinkingly clutching at Toshiya's elbow for support, he felt as though there would never be enough time to look at him. Had Die always been so tall? His hair colour had faded almost to a strawberry blond, a good inch of black showing at the roots, and he held his shoulders awkwardly rounded: his jeans were tattered and ripped at the knee. His face was different, less drawn, the colours more vivid: the absence of dark shadows under his eyes made him look younger, and more hopeful.

Ruki wanted to stare and stare and make sure he had fully taken it in: the sight of Die standing in front of them all, on his own two legs, smiling like he used to. Alive, and whole.

Gradually the nurses drew back, cooing pleasantries like a little flock of white birds, and their view of him was unblocked at last. He hovered a little uncertainly, shrugged as if shy; he couldn't seem to stop smiling.

 _That is the actual, real Die_ , Ruki's brain chanted at him stupidly, _standing about a metre away. His hair looks thicker than it did before, and the cords in his neck don't stand out so sharply, and one of his shoelaces is starting to fray and come undone_.

'What happened to you?' he said at last, aware that nobody else was speaking, and Die's grin turned a little rueful and wavered around the edges.

'Well.' He laughed a little awkwardly. 'My heart gave up.' He gave a sheepish sort of shrug, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of discomfort that felt familiar. He cleared his throat and looked up at the three of them, his mouth still smiling but his eyes not entirely happy. 'I thought I was going to die,' he added, his voice casual but for a tiny hitch in his breathing; they all pretended not to catch it.

Uruha made a soft sort of noise, but when Ruki glanced at him he gave no sign of noticing he had done anything unusual. He flexed his bandaged fingers as if he wanted to reach out and grasp something.

'Uru?' Die asked gently, and Uruha performed a sort of strange flinch.

'You almost missed me,' he said miserably. 'I'm getting out soon. In a week. No more than a week. My dad said. So you nearly—'

The rest of his words were lost in Die's shoulder as he lurched unsteadily forward and almost fell into him, his fingers grasping clumsy handfuls of Die's T-shirt as tight as they could; his knuckles were white, his head bowed, jaw clenched. He drew in an uneven gasp of breath, like a sob, and Ruki watched as Die lowered his cheek against the top of Uruha's head; as he put his skinny arms around him and clutched him close.

'I wouldn't have missed you,' he mumbled. 'I would have got here.'

 

Stupidly, Ruki's eyes felt like they were stinging; he had to look away, busy himself with lighting a cigarette. It wasn't just seeing Die that was affecting him, he realised, but something about the way Uruha was holding himself: the way his usually poker-straight spine had sagged forward; the way his proud head had bowed itself into Die's chest; the way his twitchy, restless hands had found a place to still themselves in the folds of Die's clothing.

He didn't look back until he felt he'd got himself under control. He found Die holding onto his friend fiercely, and he realised that despite the way the muscles were standing up like ropes in Die's arms, they didn't look quite as prominent as they once had. The line of them was less noticeable; didn't seem to jump off the bone the way it once had, and his hands looked less oversized in comparison to them.

He became aware of Die's eyes on him and started a little guiltily. Smiling, the redhead held out an arm.

'Come here, you idiot,' he said, his voice cheerful even though his eyes looked wet, and shyly Ruki joined them; placed a hand on Die's back to feel the bones of his ribs and spine, prominent as ever but the skin around them warmer; let his body rest against Die's side to hear the beat of his heart, strong and steady and still, still, still going, after everything.

He imagined himself and Uruha as Die must be seeing them; imagined how much the two of them might resemble the sad, limp, damaged people they must have been when Die first met them: he thought he understood, then, why Die's arms closed around the two of them so urgently, and why he squeezed them both so tightly. He closed his eyes his eyes and all but butted his head into his friend's body, leaning against him just for the thrill of confirming that Die was now strong enough to take his weight, and it was so good to be touched – to be handled with care. The sudden rush of love he felt was almost giddying: he clung on tight.

 

It must have been a long time before slowly, the three of them peeled away from each other. Ruki stepped back but Uruha seemed reluctant to go very far; he started to tear at the plasters on his fingers with his teeth and he kept finding little reasons to touch his friend, smoothing down Die's hair or a wrinkle in his T-shirt. His eyes were pink and he kept sniffing; he had left a smeary damp spot in Die's clothing, a Rorschach of his own face. A little uncomfortably, Toshiya unfurled his long body from where he had been lounging against the wall and watching them all, and held his hand out.

'Hi.'

'Hi.'

He and Die looked at each other and shook hands nervously, and then Die's face lapsed back into its trademark grin.

'We didn't really get a chance to...it's Hara, right?'

'Toshiya. And you're Die.' He smiled, an easy smile that was not so dissimilar to Die's own, and wrapped his arms around himself protectively, 'That was some party trick you pulled. You do that for all the new people?'

'Only on very special occasions,' Die assured him, and Toshiya gave a huffing little half-laugh.

'Everybody around here missed you like crazy, you know.'

Maybe it was the emotions running high, but his choice of words seemed to strike them all as funny; Die gave an ungainly snort and Ruki felt his lips twitching, and Toshiya laughed aloud into the odd, not entirely uncomfortable silence between all of them. Only Uruha's dark eyes still looked worried, flicking anxiously between Die and the door, and Ruki couldn't figure out why until Die quickly glanced around to look behind him, apparently searching for somebody else.

His stomach dropped.

'I should – is Aoi in our room?' Die asked eagerly, and he turned from the doorway too quickly to see all of their expressions slip. Toshiya shot Ruki a wary glance, but in return all Ruki could think to do was bite his lip; they trailed after Die, unable or maybe unwilling to match his quick, enthusiastic footsteps, and Ruki closed his eyes as Die grabbed at the door handle to his dorm expectantly.

It swung wide onto a view of two empty beds and from the back, Ruki watched Die's shoulders sink. He hesitated where he stood, his angular figure seeming everywhere at once, and then turned to them with an uncertain look on his face.

'Where's...' he grinned a little painfully, his voice unconvincingly light-hearted, 'Where's Aoi?'

It was impossible to watch the way that the smile he was trying for kept slipping into doubt; Ruki looked quickly down at his feet. His heartbeat seemed to be reverberating dully in his ears, like he was underwater; above it he could just about hear the way Die's voice got tighter as he asked a second time: 'Where is he?'

'He...he sort of got into trouble,' Ruki mumbled.

He risked a glance at Die's face and found the confusion still there.

'Trouble? So – so he's in the isolation room?' he asked hesitantly.

'He's – not exactly – he's—'

'He's upstairs,' Toshiya interjected apologetically, cutting through Ruki's nervous babbling, and Die took a small step backwards.

' _Upstairs_? But what did he do? Why? What's going on?'

'Die—'

'I mean – it's got to be a mistake; he doesn't belong up there. They _know_ he doesn't belong up there, they—'

'Die,' Ruki tried desperately, but the look on his friend's face shut him up.

'I don't understand,' Die said quietly, 'He's supposed to be here. He has to be here. I sent him letters.'

His face was urgently wide-eyed, and Ruki understood suddenly that it had gone two ways, Die's being sent away – that they had missed him and worried about him, hoped and wished and prayed that he might still be living; but that the whole time he had been missing them, too. He had been praying for them to keep themselves together in the same way that they had been praying for him to keep himself alive, and though Die had held up his end of the bargain, they had let theirs fall.

The feeling was very similar to guilt. Uruha touched the door of Die and Aoi's dorm with one hand and bit at the knuckles of the other.

'Aoi was bad,' he whispered, his words clear even with his teeth nipping and tearing at his own skin.

'Uru?'

'He was...he was rude. To my dad. He said bad things; wrong things. He...he deserves it.'

It was strange, how much it reminded Ruki of standing with Uruha by that same door a few days ago; the way Uruha had looked then, claiming he didn't miss his friends; the desperation with which he had eyed the door. It must have been that – the undone look on his normally composed face – that made Die bite back whatever he had been about to say; that made his expression soften a little.

'Uru, he doesn't deserve it,' Die said gently, and Uruha glanced up at him with wet eyes, a tear already trailing down one pale cheek.

'No,' he whispered. 'No, he doesn't.'

Toshiya started to nibble on his thumbnail.

'Did they...did they put him upstairs just for that?' Die asked.

'Dad,' Uruha breathed, his eyes fixed on Aoi's bed, 'Dad put him there. He made them. He wants to give him shocks so he'll forget.' He shook his head; frowned. 'But Aoi won't forget.'

 

The four of them stood there quietly for a short while, staring at each other soberly. Toshiya bit his nails, and Die took a long, slow, deep breath that he exhaled almost soundlessly. He seemed to be struggling; inside his eyes there was a terrible conflict going on, and he looked around at each of the three men before him in turn, searching to see if any of them had the answers.

'I worked really hard,' he said finally, his voice quieter than normal, 'To get better. I did everything they wanted; I ate what they told me to, and I lay still when they told me to, and I didn't throw up, and I...my parents didn't want me to come back here, but I – he didn't answer my letters.' He ran his hand through his hair agitatedly, 'He just...he has to be here. I have to see him.'

'They have to let him come down soon,' Ruki said meekly, 'All his things are still down here, and they can't keep him up there forever—'

'No.' Die inhaled shakily, 'No, that's not good enough.'

'But...' Ruki trailed off, and Die shook his head.

'I've waited,' he said simply, 'I've waited weeks. I'm not waiting any more.'

Almost reflexively he glanced back at the two empty beds behind him; the sight of them seemed to give him courage. His mouth set itself grimly.

'I'm seeing him,' he said, his voice low but firm, determined in a way Ruki had never heard it before, 'I'm getting up there. Tonight.' He paused. 'You don't have to come with me. I don't know how I'm going to do it, and there's almost no chance we won't get caught, and I – I honestly don't know how much trouble there'll be if any of us are caught. Lots, I guess. But—'

'I'm coming,' Uruha said quietly.

'Me too,' Ruki added.

'I will,' Toshiya said nervously, and ducked his head. 'You know, if you'll have me.'

The four of them looked around at each other a little uneasily, and Die gave a small nod. He glanced back at Aoi's bed again; Ruki saw his throat go up and down as he swallowed heavily.

'Then I'll knock for you,' he said plainly, 'Tonight.'

Ruki watched as Die's hard gaze found Uruha's; it softened there, and he smiled.

It felt eerily as though the four of them were about to march into battle, but Uruha smiled back: and that, Ruki thought as the nurses started flocking around and clucking disapprovingly and ushering them into bed – that smile was where the truth sunk in, that Die was really and truly back. And not just that, he reasoned as he allowed himself to be shooed off into his dorm, but that there was fight left in them, no matter how fearful and forced and desperate it felt: that they could be defeated, they could be torn apart, but they could still struggle.

And that making the choice to push back felt in itself like an act of power.

That was what made all the difference.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the flu and I'm **so miserable**. 
> 
> Be nice to me, for I am basically just snot and pain from the waist up. Thank you.


	41. Chapter 41

It was just a little past three in the morning when the knock came, floating Ruki up from his edgy half-dreams. His face felt hot and puffy, his eyes sticky; he rubbed them hard and forced his feet out of the bed. On the other side of the room, he could see Toshiya's shadowy shape rousing itself, long hair being shaken out and lanky limbs stretching themselves; as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they met in the black gulf between their beds.  
'Ready?' Toshiya asked quietly, and Ruki gave a small jerk of a nod.  
Out in the corridor, the smell of radiator dust battled with the sharpness of industrial cleaners, and Die stood shivering a little with a sweater pulled on over his night clothes. Behind him, Uruha was fully dressed and hovering anxiously, still biting at the sticking plaster covering his fingers.  
Besides the two of them, the corridor was deserted. The light was on in the nurses' station, but the woman on duty was strangely sagged down in her chair, hands curling pointlessly around the arms, and Die gave Ruki a slightly abashed look.  
'Uruha and I pooled our sleeping pills,' he admitted, 'And I slipped them into her tea whilst she was digging out a hot water bottle.'  
'Damn,' Toshiya breathed, and Die flushed a little.  
'I know it's bad,' he said apologetically, 'But—'  
'They do it to us,' Uruha interjected stubbornly.  
'What?'  
'They drug us. When we don't want them to.'  
Nobody seemed to have any answer for that; Ruki gave a halting nod and Toshiya just stuck his hands into his pockets.  
It was spooky, Ruki thought, with the corridor so dim and quiet and the bedroom doors all closed and the sky pressing so darkly against the windows, their only company the slumbering nurse at her station; Ruki was conscious of how light their steps grew when they approached her but she slept on, her mouth slightly open and her head nodding onto her own shoulder. They hovered uncomfortably around her, nobody very willing to face her, whilst Die knelt down by the stairwell door to inspect the lock; frowning slightly, he turned back to them.  
'It's a bigger key,' he said, his voice quiet but seeming huge in the silence around them, 'The lock is silver but I don't know if—'  
'Got it,' Toshiya said casually. Startled, Ruki glanced back over his shoulder to see Toshiya spinning a big tarnished key on a red tag around his finger, grinning at his company's shocked expressions. 

It was almost discomfiting, Ruki thought, how easy it was. Unlocking the stairwell door with the nurse sleeping just a few feet away, holding their breaths as they stole up the stairs; he watched them, a ragtag group of hunched, sick men that clung to the shadows, and felt eerily like perhaps they didn't exist. They moved so quietly; their bodies seemed so formless in the gloom; it felt impossible that nobody could have heard them, or seen them leave.  
Maybe they were ghosts and none of them had realised it.  
Dead already, and clinging to the walls like mice.  
It did something strange to the way he thought of himself, escaping so easily and so cleanly, and when he looked around at their assembled faces he thought that at least Uruha might be feeling the same way; he seemed uncomfortable off the ward, his hands twitching often and his face more miserable than he usually allowed it to be, flicking continuous glances down at the face of his shiny watch. His breathing seemed stilted, unnatural, and there was something off about him that Ruki couldn't quite put his finger on until he realised: he's timing it, his blinking. He's even timing his breathing.  
The look on Uruha's face made Ruki wonder if, for the first time, he might be aware of how other people saw him and his crazy compulsions – made him wonder if he might be ashamed of them.  
Contrarily he thought, doesn't anybody care where we are?  
He felt himself shrinking smaller in the gloom.  
At the top of the staircase they came across another door, different looking from their own; this one had a circle of reinforced glass set into it, through which white light was pouring out into the stairwell; on this ward, apparently, the lights were never turned out. Biting his lip, Die peered through the little circle, and pressed himself hastily back against the wall.  
'Someone's out there,' he said, hardly seeming to move his lips. 'A nurse.'  
'Did she see you?'  
'No, she's reading a magazine.'  
'What do we do?'  
Die shrugged helplessly.  
'Bigger problem,' Ruki murmured, 'I don't think that key is going to work on this door.'  
'What?' Die had closed his eyes to think, but now they snapped open, he examined the key in his fist, and grasped at the lock with his long fingers; it was a tarnished bronzy colour, obviously the wrong shape. 'Shit!'  
The four of them were quiet for a minute, Die agonising over the lock and Ruki chewing on his lip, Uruha hitting at the side of his head with a muffled thumping noise.  
'I think I've got an idea,' Toshiya said at last, his voice surprisingly calm. 'Uruha, you have pins in your hair, right?'  
'Get lost,' Uruha said haughtily, his voice tight and breathless; rolling his eyes, Toshiya simply leant forward and plucked two of them from where Uruha's hair was pinned back behind his ear. Before the other man's silent, open-mouthed outrage, he quickly bent them into L-shapes, using his teeth to scrape the plastic off the ends.  
'I think I can pick it,' he muttered lowly, 'But you guys had better be ready, because it's only going to work once. If I can get it open, I'll run in, all right? I'll run down the corridor, and I'll try and get her to chase me. I can be pretty fast.' He ran his tongue over his lips nervously. 'She can't be the only one on duty up here, so I don't know if you'll be able to get in without being seen. Even if you do, you'll have about half a second to find whichever room Aoi's in. But...' he squinted his eyes, peering briefly through the glass in the door, 'When I was up here, they put me in the room that's just next to her desk there. I don't know what that means; if they might keep that one for temporary patients, or what...but I'd start there.'  
He seemed to notice the incredulity of the three gazes that were focussed on him, and shrugged a little self-consciously. 'It might work,' he mumbled.  
'I forgot you'd been up here,' Ruki said lamely, stumbling over his words a little; Toshiya gave a brief shrug.  
'Only for a week, but I think I have an okay idea of the layout. There's no TV room or anything on this floor, no music room; nothing like that. Because of that, the corridor curves around at the end instead; there are just more dorm rooms, and the room where they...you know,' he flushed suddenly, shaking his head, 'Do the...shocks. I didn't go in there, but it says so on the door. I'll try and get her to run after me around the bend.'  
'It's a good plan,' Die said carefully, 'But...you'd kind of be throwing yourself on the grenade, Toshiya.'  
'I might not even be able to get the door open.'  
'But if you do...'  
The implication of Die's words was left hanging in the air: if you do, you're going to be in big trouble.  
It took a moment, but unexpectedly, the two of them grinned at each other in unison. 

It might have been the longest few minutes of Ruki's life, standing with his back flush against the wall as Toshiya crouched before the lock, a look of fierce concentration on his pretty face and his long fingers working nimbly with the pins; every so often there was a clicking noise and the four of them would stiffen, hardly daring to breathe until Die gathered up the nerve to check the window and whisper that the nurse didn't appear to have noticed.  
'It's bad,' Uruha muttered miserably under his breath, 'It's wrong. Criminal. My dad said. People who take drugs are...bad. Criminals. Trash. I...'  
He cut himself off, biting on his bandaged fingers agitatedly; his eyes were wide and fixed and swimming with tears. They were not, Ruki gathered, because he was sad, but because he wasn't allowing himself to blink. As he watched, they spilled over, and Uruha knuckled his eyes hard.  
Toshiya was silent as he worked. His jaw was set grimly, and every so often he would pull the hairpins out of the lock, tweak their angles a little and start again, pushing and digging delicately; he made it look unexpectedly refined, as though he was crafting something too small for the eye to see.  
'Is it working?' Die asked edgily, his eyes flicking up and down between Toshiya and the window.  
'Think so,' was the short answer.  
It was another five minutes at least before, with a quick manoeuvre, Toshiya managed to twist the hairpin up and around; there was a decisive clicking noise and, looking satisfied, he sat back on his heels.  
'Okay,' he whispered softly.  
'Done?'  
'Done.' He glanced up at them all. 'Last chance to back out, I guess.' Nimbly he got to his feet, handing the now bent hairpins back to a scowling Uruha. 'You realise this is gonna be a kamikaze mission for all of us, right? Even if you guys manage to get in without being seen, there's no way you're gonna get out.'  
'We might,' Die said uneasily, but Uruha gave his head a small shake.  
'Once they see him,' he said, performing a sort of small flinch in Toshiya's direction, 'They'll lock this door again. We won't be able to get out.'  
'We might find the key.'  
'For all we know,' Toshiya said gently, 'They could check all the beds downstairs as soon as they catch me. Ruki, you're my roommate; there's no way they won't notice you're missing. And Die...' he bit his lip, 'It's your first night back; I don't think they're going to assume that's a coincidence. They'll be checking everywhere, every room; none of us are gonna get out of this.'  
There was a short pause.  
'I suppose you're right,' Die said finally. 'But I'm still in if you are.'  
'Me too,' Ruki put in.  
Uruha looked down at the watch on his wrist and nodded once, firmly. 'Me too.'  
'All right,' Toshiya said quietly. 'Get ready to run, I guess.' 

To Ruki, it seemed oddly like a silent movie. Perhaps it was the colours – the harsh white walls and the white lights, the white and grey of Toshiya's institutional clothing and the black of his hair flying out behind him as he pushed open the door and ran almost soundlessly down the hallway. Maybe it was the strangely choreographical nature of it: Toshiya's long strides and the way the nurse's face froze into a perfect O of surprise before she was up on her feet and taking off after him, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking softly on the corner as she followed him out of sight.  
It was almost comic, but Ruki's face felt far too cold and stiff too laugh; he felt a hand on his back, propelling him forward, and he stumbled onto the ward with Die and Uruha flanking him. His vision seemed to work in snapshots: he had a clear picture of Uruha, his eyes very dark in his face and his gaze focussed; he saw Die stronger than he'd ever seemed before, his long hair flying and the cords standing out in his arms and neck.  
It was all he really had the time to take in before a long-fingered hand was closing tightly around his wrist and he was being tugged, wheeling through a white-painted door that shut with a click and swallowed them up. He felt himself being forced to the ground, and opened his mouth just in time for Die to clap a hand over it and point sharply up above their heads.  
The room they were in was dim, but it was easy enough to make out the rough features of it; it was small, its dimensions cramped, and windowless. The furniture was sparse: a bed, and a small cabinet, and a chair. The bed was covered by a grey blanket, and this was clear because there was a single light source in the room: a white disc thrown over the bed that came, Ruki saw when he looked up, from the door; it had a circular glass pane set into it, just like the door from the stairwell had. For some reason, staring up at it, he had to repress a shudder. That was what Die had been pointing at, he realised; the window, and the chance that they might be seen from the corridor.  
Next to him, Uruha rocked himself and tapped on the sides of his head, and the silence from outside was unnerving. There were footsteps, low voices, and then nothing. More footsteps. Carefully, trying not to make any sound, Ruki turned himself and peered through the keyhole in the door, but there was nothing. Just blank corridors; the view of the door opposite.  
'Did they get him?' he breathed. Next to him, he felt Die shrug helplessly.  
'Must have done.'  
'Did you hear them go by?'  
'I don't know.'  
Moving cautiously, Die got to his feet. Ruki thought he was going to risk looking out of the window set into the door, but instead he drifted forth, slow as a sleepwalker, towards the bed. He became a shadow, indistinct as he turned to look back at them.  
'It's definitely him,' he said.  
It was hard to understand the tone of his voice. Next to Ruki, Uruha tugged on his own hair so harshly that his eyes began to water, but warily the two of them began to approach the bed. It was hard with that splash of light over the blanket; Ruki's eyes didn't seem to want to adjust to the darkness; but as they drew nearer and stilled they saw Die's shape perch itself lightly on the edge of the mattress, and all of a sudden their three shadows leapt high over the walls as he sparked his lighter. The flame was there for the briefest moment before dying, but that was all right; Ruki felt the sight might have been burned right into his brain.  
'Aoi,' he heard himself say.  
It was him. 

There was a peculiarity to the way that he was sleeping; fiercely, almost intently, as if he was putting effort into it and might wake up more exhausted than when he started. His brow was slightly furrowed and his mouth a little firmed, as though he had decided to take a stand against something. Evidently he hadn't shaved in a while – perhaps hadn't been able to, or simply hadn't bothered – and the stubble on his face was long enough to look rumpled and untidy.  
Gently, Die reached out and stroked the hair back off his face. Uruha took hold of the blanket, right down by the edge of the bed, where it was almost unnoticeable.  
'Aoi,' Die said softly, 'Aoi, wake up.'  
Ruki pretended not to notice the tenderness with which Die's hand found the knob of Aoi's shoulder under the blanket and shook it. His gaunt face contorted slightly, the brows knitting themselves together, and he said in a careful tone of voice: 'They've tied him down. I can barely shake him. Look at the sheet.'  
It was true; as Ruki's eyes readjusted to the gloom, he could see where the ends of Aoi's bed sheet had been fastened to the railings on his bed – a hospital style bed, not the normal ones they had downstairs. It made Ruki feel uneasy.  
Without consultation, they began to untie him. Ruki's fingers slipped against the cotton and a small sound escaped Uruha's throat. When eventually they had it loosened Aoi stirred, as if that was what he had been waiting for, and when Die stroked his hair again his eyes opened, blinking confusedly in the darkness. He seemed to take a while to find them.  
'Is this a dream?' he asked hoarsely.  
'It's not a dream.'  
Aoi's thin, strong hand found Die's and gripped it hard.  
'You're alive.'  
'They've been giving you shocks?' Die asked, his voice low and urgent, and Aoi hesitated.  
'Yeah.'  
'Fuck.' For a moment Die seemed to be at a loss; he just squeezed Aoi's fingers tighter. 'How do you feel?'  
'Oh, you know. I'm ecstatic.'  
He smiled suddenly, tiredly. 'Ex-static...get it?'  
There was a pause, and then Die laughed and groaned all at once.  
'I can't believe you. That was dreadful.'  
'Are you surprised?'  
'Shocked,' Die said, and suddenly lurched forwards, folding his friend up in his arms. 'It's really good to see you.'  
'Yeah, it's pretty good to see you too.'  
It might have been the strange effect of the light coming in from the door, but Aoi's eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and his own arms faltered a little before coming up and encircling Die's back. He clung on tightly, his fingers wrinkling Die's clothing, and with an oddly uncharacteristic movement he buried his face in the other man's bony shoulder. Uruha didn't make a sound but Aoi flung out an arm, grasping around the bedclothes for his hand: when he found it, he squeezed it tightly and drew it towards him, pressing it against the centre of his chest. Ruki watched as Die smiled at that, lowered his cheek against the top of Aoi's head; as he reached out and touched Uruha's waist through his clothes. It was a strangely intimate sort of gesture that made Ruki feel oddly left out, and he surprised himself by wishing that Toshiya was still there with them. He wondered where he was now; what kind of trouble he had possibly got himself into up on this quiet, mysterious ward. 

None of them mentioned it, but Aoi seemed different. It wasn't just his sleepiness, the way he sagged a little sitting upright, swaying against Die's shoulder and rubbing at his eyes; it was his new reticence, the strange air of confusion he seemed to have about him. For one, although he knew exactly who he was talking to, he seemed to keep forgetting that Die had been away; every time he was gently reminded he turned shame-faced, an expression so unlike him that it made Ruki want to shake him, almost.  
'Of course,' he murmured, 'No, I know. I really missed you. And I didn't know...I didn't even know if you were alive.'  
The third time he remembered he buried his face in his hands and fell quiet for a long time, his whole body shivering, and when he finally looked up again his eyes were red-rimmed.  
Not only that, but he seemed hazy on the sequence of events that had led to him being moved; when Ruki mentioned Toshiya he said 'Who?' in a foggy sort of voice and simply shook his head.  
It was an odd, scary sort of feeling, as though something was missing from him. Every so often he would stare at the circle of light coming through the door as if mesmerised by it, and the thought of the cold, stark hallways outside made Ruki realise how sinister it felt to have a place permanently lit up, quite unlike the comfort of the soft darkness that surrounded them. It made it seem unreal, confusing; it made it seem like a place where the sun might rise on time or might not, might set and might simply linger; a place where the night could go on forever and ever and you would never know.  
'How did you get up here?' Aoi asked finally, his voice croaky sounding, and Die poured him a glass of water from the jug that sat on top of the little cabinet at his bedside. Carefully, he held it to his mouth and supported his head whilst he drank, and there was that scary feeling again; was this really Aoi, their Aoi – their funny, feisty, prickly friend, so docile?  
'We stole the key,' Die reported, 'And Toshiya picked a lock.'  
Something seemed to clear in Aoi's eyes.  
'Junkie trash,' he sighed with a tired smile, and nestled his head more comfortably against Die's shoulder. Reaching out, he picked up Die's free hand and twined their fingers together. With an expression that looked a little more like him, he pressed his lips together.  
'I didn't mean any of what I said,' he said lowly. It was such a non sequitur that Ruki felt lost for a second, but evidently Die understood.  
'I know,' he mumbled. 'Neither did I.'  
Slowly, Aoi shook his head, messy hair trailing over his shoulders as he stared down at the blankets.  
'If you had died,' he said in a quiet voice, 'I never would have forgiven myself.'  
Die didn't seem to have anything to say back to that. He fell quiet, running his thumb absently over Aoi's tensed knuckles.  
'You need to come back,' Uruha said suddenly, breaking the silence. 'We need you.' He closed his mouth firmly.  
'We do,' Ruki added.  
'They're right.'  
'You two had better look after each other until I'm back,' Aoi said, and glanced up at Ruki. 'I already know who's looking after you.'  
Ruki didn't say anything; just smiled. There was a harsh burn in the back of his throat that threatened to choke him when he swallowed around it.  
'I don't know how to look after anybody,' Uruha said in a strange, stiff voice.  
'You've been looking after me all these years,' Aoi said quietly.  
'You haven't needed any looking after.'  
But Uruha moved closer to him, and he allowed Aoi to rest his head on his shoulder. The three of them formed a strange shape in the gloom, more like one creature than many; like some old god, three-headed, a tangle of limbs and one bound-together torso. Six lungs, three hearts. Uruha closed his eyes and looked restful.  
Like a god, in that moment, they looked invincible. 

They stayed that way for a long time; the three of them perched on the bed and Ruki on the chair beside it, leaning forward with his head resting upon his arms on the mattress. He felt a strange lack of panic; it was as though he had fulfilled his quota for fear and could go no further. The quiet between the four of them was sleepy and Ruki allowed his thoughts to drift by him: unformed thoughts about the three of them huddled together at the top of the bed; hazy images of Toshiya running silently down the corridor; memories of Kyo, rising slowly towards him like something floating up from the deep. It should have been painful – ordinarily it would have been painful – but surrounded by his friends, he felt oddly calm. He allowed himself not to dwell on the memories but to instead inhabit them; gave himself a moment of pretending that he was in Kyo's small, cramped little room, drawing a portrait; that he was lying beside him in his own single bed in the predawn, the night of the funeral; that with his eyes covered the other man might be standing before him, naked but hidden, a shiver in the strength of his hands as he slid his fingers gently through Ruki's hair. It called up the same feeling that thinking back of Hiroshi did, a melancholy that was almost, in its way, pleasurable – a clean sort of feeling.  
A knowledge that the person might be gone now, but at one point they had stood there, safe and whole.  
Submerged as he was, he couldn't feel any rush of anxiety when the door opened. Light flooded them and, blinking against the brightness, he raised his head from his arms to look not over at the door but at his three friends, sitting resolutely together on the bed.  
He saw Aoi smile, a real smile; saw him slip an arm around each of their waists. He saw Die return that smile with a grin of his own, reaching out to touch Uruha's cheek and allow his hand to fit around the shape of his jaw; he saw Uruha bite his lip, smile excitedly, an expression so unfamiliar that Ruki almost rubbed his eyes. Free of his usual tense frown, he looked years younger, and he could see why Aoi looked so elated suddenly – so delighted, so unbeatable, with that rebellious look flashing back into his eyes.  
When they moved inwards it was like some beautiful trick of the eyes; like turning a kaleidoscope. Slightly clumsy, just a little shy, they folded into each other and three sets of lips met in the middle. Where they touched they stuck softly, a tongue licked gently: a wonderful, daring, almost breathtakingly sweet kiss.  
It was like a mirror in triplicate, the number hypnotising. The room filled with uniforms, but there wasn't any fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is classic third wheel!Ruki all over. Ruki, I'm so sorry.
> 
> It is **three thirty** in the morning again, my dudes. This chapter is very wordy and I apologise.


	42. Chapter 42

'I simply don't know what to do.'

The four of them shivered in the predawn chill as the head nurse stared them down. Her appearance was slightly rumpled, her face puffy and free of make-up, her hair only roughly combed under her hat; it was just past five o'clock and she was never normally here at this early hour.

'It seems there is nothing I can do – no punishment – that will sink in for you men. I had assumed the majority of the bad behaviour on this ward was due to Aoi's bad influence, but...' her words trailed off meaningfully. With a small sigh, she took off her small, rimless spectacles and began to polish them neatly. 'So, you have me at a loss, men. How can I punish you? Restricting your grounds privileges and your clothes privileges doesn't seem to work; cancelling your visits doesn't seem to work. What can I do to impress upon you that this behaviour is utterly unacceptable?'

Next to Ruki, Toshiya sneezed quietly into his cupped hands. They sat in the dining room, a strange and abandoned-looking place at this early hour, all crowded around the same side of the table; it reminded Ruki forcefully of being sat in here with Kyo, the day they'd stayed out so long in the rain.

'We only wanted to see him,' Die argued stubbornly. 'What's so unacceptable about that? He's our friend.'

'Stealing keys, Mr Andou? Running around unchecked? Picking locks? That – _disgusting_ display from the three of you when you were found? You think these are all appropriate behaviours?'

'No more inappropriate than him being up there in the first place,' Die said defiantly.

'Mr Andou, are you a doctor?'

'No, but—'

'Do you have any psychiatric training?'

'I don't _need_ —'

'Then I'd suggest that the staff here know a _little_ bit more about—'

'You're electrocuting him as a punishment,' Die said in a loud voice that seemed to ring a little off the walls, like an echo. The head nurse's expression didn't change, but her interlaced fingers tightened a little.

'Any more outbursts out of you,' she said serenely, 'And you will be in the isolation room for a very long time, do you hear me?'

'Fine,' Die said hotly. 'Punish me; I don't care. It was all my idea anyway; I just dragged everybody else along with me.'

He glared around at them quickly, as if forbidding them to argue.

'I read a medical journal about ECT,' Uruha said quietly. He swallowed three times in a row, apparently having to force it; his teeth were bloody where he'd been chewing on his lip, and his eyes were focussed wrong, as if he was looking at something far beyond them all. He was tapping the table softly with his index fingers, twelve times with the left and then twelve times with the right. He took a sharp breath.

'You're not supposed to use it,' he said, 'Unless the person is really depressed, or they're psychotic, or they're catatonic. And Aoi isn't any of those things.'

'Uruha,' the nurse said patiently, 'Where on earth would you have got hold of a—'

'Dr Sato leant it to me,' Uruha stumbled on, concentrating furiously on the table in front of him, 'I like to read about it. About psychology. I like to _know_.' He looked up at her miserably. 'When I know, I don't have to count so much.'

She didn't seem to know what to say to that. Uruha bit down on his already torn lip, his fingers tapping harder against the tabletop.

'And I think you know,' he added, his voice softer than ever but eerily distinct in the late night quiet, 'I think you know all that. I think – I think that you only put him up there because my dad said to. But _he's_ not a doctor.'

He frowned suddenly, harshly. 'He doesn't know _any_ thing.' He paused. 'I hate him.'

 

There was a nasty sort of silence; nobody seemed to know quite what to say. Even the head nurse seemed surprised, wringing her fingers in a gesture uncharacteristic for her. Shoulders hunched, Uruha gritted his teeth and clenched his bandaged fists.

'He hurts my friends,' he said quietly, 'And if he comes near me again I'm going to kill him.'

'Uruha!' The nurse cleared her throat, smoothing and resmoothing her uniform, 'Uruha, you – you'd better just go on to bed. You're _completely_ overexcited, and I know emotions have been running high tonight, but that's absolutely no excuse for this behaviour.'

She waited, but he remained in his seat and stared at her blankly.

'Uruha, _now_. Get into your room, please.'

His face turned a little uncertain. 'No.'

'Uruha, you can either go into your bedroom of your own accord or you can be escorted into the isolation room.'

'I thought I was going in there,' Die said, leaning forward over the table tauntingly, 'You can't just give away my space, nurse.'

'Yeah,' Toshiya said, a sly grin curling around his lips, 'That's not fair.'

'You _did_ sort of promise,' Ruki added.

Stupidly, Toshiya's little grin had set him off: he couldn't seem to stop the smile from tugging at his lips. He glanced over and saw Die blatantly reach out and take Uruha's hand, squeezing his fingers lightly, and he had to push down the laugh that threatened to escape from his throat. He couldn't explain why he felt so suddenly elated; at least, not until he watched Uruha shyly bump the back of his hand against Toshiya's, linking their fingers together; not until Toshiya turned to Ruki, grinning wider now, and slid his long fingers around his palm so the four of them made a chain.

He was smiling so hard he could have cried because it was _back_ , he realised: that thing they had lost when Die had gone and Aoi had been sent away upstairs; that basic sense of togetherness, of belonging – the feeling that they could be closer than family; of forming a closed group, being all each other had.

'And you know,' Toshiya said, 'I actually think I should be the one to get the isolation room. I don't want to brag or anything, but I was the one who stole the keys, _and_ the one who picked the lock.'

'No, I think I should get it,' Ruki piped up, 'Because I didn't contribute anything to the team effort. That's not proper therapeutic engagement, is it, nurse?'

'What about me?' Die argued, scandalised, 'The whole thing was my idea in the first place!'

'I was the one who said we should give the nurse sleeping pills,' Uruha said stubbornly.

'But I actually _did_ it.'

'Look, the room is mine. I'm the newest.'

'That doesn't _mean_ anything.'

'She promised _me_!'

As his friends bickered and the grin grew wider on his face Ruki wondered why he'd never thought of it before: how odd it was that, when he'd first got here, he'd never once even tried to connect with any of the nurses or the orderlies – had simply taken it for granted that it wasn't an option; that they weren't his people. In a place where sane and insane were supposedly so starkly divided, he had thrown his lot in firmly with the insane, and it had turned out to be the right choice.

And there was nothing, he thought, no madness at all that could make him change his mind about that. Anybody could be crazy on paper; anybody could have times when they felt completely out of control, or so sad they could die; anybody could have times when counting things made them feel better and calories seemed like an impossible burden and voices from inside started talking over the voices from outside.

He seemed to hear Kyo's stark, hoarse voice in his head: _how do you know the things you see are the same things everybody else sees? You have dreams that feel real. So how do you know you've woken up?_

You didn't, he realised. You never knew; you never _got_ to know, not really. You just had to trust it.

It was the strangest feeling: as if some cumbersome part had suddenly clicked into place in his mind or some dreadful obstacle had simply melted away into the ground. He had to talk to Kyo – he had to talk to him so badly that he felt breathless with it. He had to say that he was sorry, and that he'd been wrong, and if he could manage it without losing his nerve then he wanted to try and say how beautiful he thought the other man was; how much he'd missed him, and how much he didn't ever want to miss him again. The feeling was so strong that it drove him to his feet before he even knew what he was doing, and the head nurse's face took on a flown-apart expression of panic, and as Ruki headed blindly for the hallway she ducked, covering her head, as though he was about to strike her.

It was bizarre then; looking at her, and suddenly seeing himself as she did. He saw a young man with his eyes burning, his jaw tight and his fist clenched; he saw a person with a fight in him and he understood, instinctively, why she had flinched back from him and why she staggered out into the hallway now; why she screamed aloud as two white-uniformed orderlies closed in on him. He saw himself snarling, his teeth bared as he fought against them because they didn't understand; they didn't understand how desperately he had to get to Kyo, and how it felt like even a single second might make it too late.

None of them understood how it had to be _now_ , and he had the impression of observing himself coolly from the outside as he punched and kicked and writhed in their grip. He saw the flash of the needle and struggled harder, his teeth snapping as he bit out at them; he felt his own throat rip and ache as he yelled Kyo's name as loud as he could.

A bruising hand choked him off mid-cry, and he wheezed. He came up against a pair of angry black eyes and gasped pointlessly, his chest aching.

'You've got to calm down,' the head nurse said shakily, patting her hat into place, 'Oh, Ruki, you need to behave. Isn't that so?'

The needle was already sticking in his upper arm, he realised; he hadn't felt it go in. He could feel his muscles starting to slacken, though, and when he tried to throw the orderlies off they allowed him to half lunge and half slump to the floor.

'Damn it,' he said brokenly; it felt as though the word was being forced out through shards of glass. 'I have to talk to him.'

His arms felt like lead but he gritted his teeth and pulled himself forward, his body sagging against the floor. He could hear people shouting, dimly; their words echoed incomprehensibly around his ears. He blinked and the world dimmed, the lines growing blurry, and he felt his eyes fill with tears.

'But I have to,' he said.

 

_I don't care what you told me_

_You're gonna say you'll hold me..._

He blinked and something murky swum dizzily in front of him.

_Yes you're gonna say you'll love me_

_'Cause I'm gonna love you too..._

His body and jaw and cheek were resting against something soft and spongy that felt as though it was going to pull him in. He could hear music that sounded as though it was coming from very far away, as if the main force of it was being somehow siphoned off; it reached him through a high static whine that made him screw his face up. When he tried to make a sound, it came out strangled and unrecognisable, and the vague dark shape in front of him seemed to sway.

'Ruki?'

A tear slipped from his eye and down his cheek; he felt it go. The shape turned into a collection of shapes, all cracked apart like a kaleidoscope, that gradually resolved themselves into a fuzzy human.

'Easy,' the face part of the shape said, and as Ruki blinked the image sharpened itself into Toshiya, his face grim with concern. 'Just lie still for a bit, will you? You've been out for hours.'

The radio said _another fine addition to our Buddy Holly tribute_ , I'm Gonna Love You Too _, first released as a single in 1957 and one of the standouts from Holly's eponymous—_ and then Toshiya snapped it off.

'Sorry,' he said. His clumsy, long-fingered hand found Ruki's forehead and rested there as though checking him for fever.

'I'm not sick,' Ruki said, but it came out so garbled he couldn't possibly see how Toshiya could understand.

'Why the hell did you run at the head nurse like that?' Toshiya muttered, stroking Ruki's hair back from his face, 'You went completely berserk. You looked like you were going to eat her.'

'Not her,' Ruki said in a gritty voice, and swallowed hard. His throat ached. 'I wanted to get out. I wanted to—'

He sat up suddenly and the whole world sat up with him, swaying uncontrollably; he clutched blindly and found Toshiya's hands filled his, keeping him upright.

' _Kyo_ ,' he said urgently, 'I have to talk to him, I have to tell him, I have to—'

'Calm down,' Toshiya said firmly, half guiding and half pushing him back down onto the soft surface, which turned out to be his own mattress, 'Shut up for a minute.'

Ruki glowered, but did as he was told. He watched as Toshiya sighed.

'You've been out for over a day,' his roommate told him plainly. 'I don't know what the hell they shot you with but it got you good, you idiot. You really...you freaked everybody out, Ruki.'

He realised what he was hearing, then; a sort of shake in Toshiya's voice, like he was trembling.

'I have to tell Kyo,' he said, speaking as clearly as I could, 'That I'm sorry. And I have to explain. Now.'

'Ruki, you can't now.'

'Yes, I can. Help me.' Grimly he started trying to push himself up off the bed, and almost growled in frustration when he felt Toshiya's hands pushing him back down. They were gentle, but insistent.

'Get off! Help me, please.'

'You can't speak to him now,' Toshiya repeated, more firmly. 'Don't you remember anything of what _happened_?'

'Happened? I...no. Just the orderlies, and...'

Above him, Toshiya's face seemed to drop, and he bit down lightly on his full lower lip.

'You remember screaming Kyo's name?' he asked gently, and Ruki felt the bed he was lying on dip and sway softly as Toshiya sat down on the edge of it.

'I...maybe.' Ruki swallowed painfully; felt his throat rip itself open along the wounds he'd put there. 'I remember.'

'You remember him coming out of his room?'

'He heard?'

Toshiya's face was still twisted with worry, but he snorted.

'I think the whole fucking place heard you. How can something so little be so _loud_?'

'Fuck off,' Ruki said quickly, 'He heard?'

' _Yeah_ , he heard. He came out, and when he saw what they were doing to you...'

'Doing?'

As soon as the word left his lips, a heavy throbbing ache seemed to sink into his spine, and he rolled over agonisingly. ' _Fu-uuuck_.'

'You don't remember them hurting you?' Toshiya asked quietly, and Ruki gave his head a rough shake.

' _No_.'

'It was scary, Ruki.' He paused, and to Ruki's surprise, he felt one of Toshiya's warm hands tangle itself up with one of his own cold ones. 'It was that orderly with the hairy arms; I don't know his name, the one that Aoi got with the cigarette between the eyes. He kicked you...in the back, the side maybe, I'm not sure. It was fast. But Kyo saw and he kind of...'

Toshiya faltered, his fingers squeezing Ruki's tight. 'I don't know, but he kind of went crazy, Ruki. He didn't say anything, he didn't make any noise at all; he just went and grabbed that guy by the collar, and he hit him – he really hit him, Ruki.'

Numbly, Ruki stared at the ceiling, and Toshiya sighed.

'I don't know what's going to happen,' he said lowly. 'After it was all over, I saw the head nurse take that orderly off, and he was bleeding. His mouth...he was holding some of his teeth in his hand. I don't think we're gonna see him again.' He bit at the skin around his thumbnail agitatedly. 'As soon as they got them apart, Kyo knelt down next to you, but I guess you were out of it already. I couldn't tell if you were looking at him or not. But...'

He paused so long that Ruki glared, and Toshiya bit at his thumb again. 'They injected him with something and dragged him off,' he said hurriedly, 'Kyo – they put him in the isolation room. And it's been...'

He trailed off again, looking distinctly upset; he didn't seem to be able to meet Ruki's eyes. 'It's been horrible,' he finished finally, his voice just slightly higher-pitched than normal. 'It's soundproofed, or it mostly is, or it's _supposed_ to be...but we could hear him yelling in there. I suppose...' he interrupted himself painfully, 'I suppose he might have told you about his – about why he's here?'

Ruki's heart thumped too hard; he felt sick.

'He's told me,' he said, 'How do _you_ —?'

'I don't,' Toshiya stopped him quickly, 'Just...bits and pieces, now. Something about people being dead; something about a sister. I don't know, it wasn't the kind of thing you could follow – Ruki!'

He snatched at him as Ruki struggled upwards, but he wasn't quick enough; his hands closed on empty air as Ruki took one step onto wobbling legs and fell forward, landing so hard on his fists that he felt the teeth rattle in his head. He dragged himself forward, forcing his legs to cooperate; like some awful ungainly creature he managed to get himself up onto his knees and pull at the doorknob.

Nothing happened, though, and he sank stupidly to the floor.

 

When he opened his eyes again, it was with the impression that several hours had passed. The sky floating hazily outside the window was a reddish colour, and Toshiya was holding a book in his hands. He was positioned in a way that Ruki couldn't understand – the book was hovering almost directly above Ruki's own face, and Toshiya's stomach and chest seemed weirdly placed – until he realised that he was lying with his head in his roommate's lap. There was warmth all around him, and he could hear the other man's breathing and his slow, steady heartbeat.

'Toshiya,' he said, his voice just a little croaky, and immediately the book disappeared.

'Hi. Are you okay?'

'Yeah,' Ruki said uncomfortably. '...Did you drag me up here?'

'What, instead of leaving you in a puddle in front of the door? _Yes_ , I got you up here, but I didn't drag you. You're easy enough to pick up, you know.'

Ruki closed his eyes. Behind them, a headache throbbed queasily. His whole body felt strangely stiff and distant, as though he was lying on a bed of nails.

'The door,' he said, almost not wanting to hear Toshiya's answer, 'What's going on?'

'I tried to tell you,' Toshiya said nervously, 'I was getting to it.'

'Toshiya,' Ruki said warningly, and his roommate sighed.

'It's locked,' he said. 'We're locked in. From what I understand _everybody_ is; the whole ward.' He bit his lip. 'That was their solution, you see. Only one isolation room, so...they just made every room an isolation room.'

'But you and me are in here together,' Ruki said numbly, and Toshiya shrugged.

'We're the only ones,' he reminded him. 'Die's alone, Uruha's alone; with Kyo in the actual isolation room both he and Shinya are alone.'

'But – meals.'

'We ate in here. I mean _I_ ate; they fed you. You don't remember, huh?'

Ruki shook his head dumbly.

'How long for?' he said, and heard how his voice came out in a whisper. Above him, Toshiya smiled sadly.

'Until the lesson sinks in,' he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long, I apologise! This chapter had about eleventy billion iterations and all but this one were complete crap. Does anybody else sense that we're kind of coming to the end?


	43. Chapter 43

The little calendar on Sato's desk read December 20, and outside the window the hills were completely obscured. Everything was the same colour; trees, hills, sky; everything the same aching and empty white. The days were all the same colour, too, each one blending pointlessly into the next. Time did not seem to be passing so much as stalling, the days backing up in great lumps, and Monday was a void that eventually swallowed up Tuesday, and Wednesday sank fatly over the tops of the walls and oozed down over the people within, and the whole thing was so thick and so stultifying that it seemed nobody could move even an inch.

December 20 was a Thursday, so it had been four days; only four days.

The thought was remarkable.

In front of the desk Ruki jittered in place, biting on his fingernails and waiting for Sato to close the door. As soon as it swung shut he ripped at his nail hard enough to feel it tear – it stung uselessly – and the doctor eyed him.

'Ruki—'

'You've got to help,' Ruki interrupted him quickly.

Standing by the door, Sato suddenly looked very old. There were white hairs in his neatly trimmed moustache and around his temples, and the hair on the very top of his head was thin enough to see through. Wearily, he walked over to his desk and sat himself heavily down behind it.

'It's not me,' Ruki continued, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out, 'I know I'm being punished; I don't care, that's fine. But you have to get Kyo out of that room.'

'This isn't the time to talk about that.'

'You have to get him out.'

'Ruki, these sessions are about _you_ —'

'They're torturing him,' he said, so loudly that he surprised himself. Sato blinked at him.

'He's perfectly safe,' he said after a moment's silence, and Ruki gritted his teeth.

'That isn't true,' he said, 'and you know it. I can hear him in there, and he's suffering, and you have to get him out _now_.'

There was a pause. The doctor uncapped and recapped his pen.

'Some psychologists,' he said lightly, 'Believe that this kind of treatment can be a useful therapy for patients in Kyo's condition. A sort of forced confrontation with – ah, with various elements of the psychosis, in a controlled environment—'

'I saw him,' Ruki said flatly, 'You know how? Two orderlies were escorting me into the bathroom for my shower whilst two orderlies were escorting him out after his. His hair was still dripping wet, and he only had one arm in his T-shirt, but they were shoving him into the isolation room anyway. As soon as he saw they meant to put him back in there, he went pale, and he started struggling. He was _begging_ them. All he was saying was _no, please_ , over and over but they forced him in and shut the door anyway. He didn't even see me.'

When he blinked the image seemed superimposed on his eyelids again; Kyo pinned like an insect between the two nurses, his eyes wide, almost hypnotised by panic. Something hard seemed to lodge itself in his throat. 'You _need_ to get him out, doctor. _Please_. I know you don't agree with this; I – I know you can't agree with this, because you're good. And...' he hesitated, looking the doctor in the eye nervously, 'And I trust you.'

Sato gave a soft sigh that ruffled his moustache. Quietly, he steepled his hands beneath his chin.

'I disagree with the punishment,' he said carefully, 'But there's nothing I can do. I'm no longer Kyo's doctor; those kinds of decisions aren't mine to make any more.'

'There's got to be something you can do,' Ruki argued quickly, 'Talk to his doctor; talk to the nurses! _Anything_. Anything. He's been in there for four days – _longer_ , because he was in there when I was out of it – even if you can just get him a – an _hour_ out, just to see some daylight—'

'It's out of my hands,' Sato said, his voice gentle but firm, and Ruki struggled.

'But there has to be _something_!' he burst, wringing his hands violently, 'You – you're a _doctor_! Didn't you take some kind of oath? You're going to just sit there and let this happen?!'

'I am going to continue to reason with my colleagues,' Sato said calmly, and Ruki slammed his clenched fist down on the arm of his chair.

'That's not _good_ enough! This isn't right; you _know_ this isn't right but you won't _do_ —'

'Think,' Sato interrupted him, his voice firm, 'Just _think_ , Ruki. Currently, there's nothing I can do. Do you want me to storm over there and unlock the door? I can promise you that they'll lock him back in straight away, I will lose my job, and then there is one less person in this building looking out for his welfare.'

Unsure what to say, Ruki simply glowered at him, fingernails digging into the arms of the chair. Eventually, he sighed.

'Why is it like this?' he mumbled. 'I've never seen him do anything bad, but some of the staff act like they hate him.'

The doctor took a cigarette out of his shiny case, propped it between his lips, and lit it. He offered Ruki the pack, but he waved it away impatiently.

Then he did something Ruki had never seen him do before: before speaking, he glanced towards the door, as if making sure it was still shut.

'They don't hate Kyo,' Sato said shortly, 'They fear him. Fear is a very ugly emotion, Ruki, and everybody is scared of something. Of course, you weren't here a few years ago, when the choice was made to move Kyo down to this ward; you can't know what it was like. There was almost a revolt. With his past being what it is...the staff down here considered it unwise to take him off such a controlled ward. Many of the staff left.'

'But the ones who stayed must have been around him for years now,' Ruki argued stubbornly, 'They should be able to see that he's safe.'

Sato hesitated. 'He attacked an orderly, Ruki. Orderly Yamamoto is—'

'He was hurting me,' Ruki said staunchly, 'That's the only reason why. Kyo – I think he was trying to protect me.'

'Yamamoto's behaviour was unacceptable, Ruki; please don't think it's being overlooked. But Kyo's reaction was disproportionate.'

Ruki made a frustrated noise, 'Because he was _scared_!'

'It's not good enough,' Sato said simply, 'He needs to exercise impulse control. Ruki, we really shouldn't be talking about this; these sessions are supposed to be about you.'

Ruki sat back in his chair, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. The doctor sighed.

'I should warn you,' he said, 'That after this session I'm supposed to report on the efficacy of your punishment; whether I can sign off on it being safe for you to mingle on the ward as usual. I don't believe it's beneficial to anybody's mental health to be cooped up in one room, but you will have to give me some positive evidence here, Ruki.'

'Like what?' he asked flatly.

'Like some remorse for what you've done; like evidence that you're coping with your negative feelings in a healthy way, rather than lashing out at—'

'I was not _attacking_ her!' Ruki interrupted, gripping the arms of his chair hard, 'I was just trying to get to—'

'It doesn't matter,' Sato said sharply, 'You _must_ understand that. This is not a trial, Ruki; this is not about whether or not you're guilty of anything. Don't you see that decision has already been made? Calm down, and think. You're a much, much stronger person than you were when you first came in here; use that strength. I know you're concerned about your friends, but I need you to focus on yourself. You have a life to live, Ruki, outside of here. Don't forget about that.'

There was a short silence, then, during which time Sato rubbed his temples and Ruki bit his lip, trying to take deep breaths and slow down the thrashing of his heart. He exhaled softly.

'I am sorry for what I did,' he said carefully, 'I'm sorry that it's affected so many people.'

'By which I will generously assume you mean the nurses and orderlies,' Sato said, 'Carry on.'

'I do know that what I did was...wrong. And I have learned some better ways to calm myself down.'

'Such as?'

'Such as...deep breathing, and counting to ten, and trying to view my situation objectively.'

'Very good,' Sato said quietly. He made a few notes, and then set his pen down on his desk. 'Do you _want_ to leave, Ruki?'

'I...of course I do.'

'If I said you could go tomorrow, would you do it?'

'Oh.' Ruki faltered. 'I mean – I would. But...no. Because what about—?'

Once again, Ruki was struck by the strange impression that Sato was really quite an old man. The doctor stared at him for a few moments and then slowly leant back, easing open one of his desk drawers and pulling out a large, padded envelope.

'Your letter,' he said gently, 'From Iwamiya.'

He slid it over the desk and nonplussed, Ruki took it.

'This is a different envelope,' he said doubtfully, 'Did you...?'

'The original letter is inside there. Still sealed,' Sato added a little wryly.

Uncertainly, Ruki looked at him. He held the envelope very carefully with the tips of his fingers.

'There's something else in here.'

'Perhaps.'

'So what am I supposed to—'

'It's up to you what you do with it,' Sato said neatly, 'You might find it useful and you might not; in any case it's not up for discussion. It's your choice and I want you to make it without any outside influence.'

'Right,' Ruki said dubiously. He squeezed the envelope gently: it was thick, as though there was a lot inside it. He frowned up at the doctor.

'This is something I shouldn't open in front of any of the staff,' he said slowly, 'Isn't it?'

Sato just shrugged. 'There's nothing forbidden in there, but both you and I will certainly invite less questions that way.'

'Right,' Ruki said again, though his voice sounded just as unsure. He hugged the envelope to his chest uncomfortably.

'Before you open the letter from Iwamiya,' Sato said gently, 'Please remember that I feel you're ready to leave; that's my professional opinion. But you have to want it.'

Dumbly, Ruki just nodded, and Sato sighed and got to his feet.

'Come along, then. It's time for me to take you back.'

 

With nobody around, the corridors felt wrong. Every door was closed, giving the place a claustrophobic feel; from the isolation room, all was quiet.

It was so silent that Ruki's own pulse felt loud, following him down the corridor like footsteps. When he pushed open the door to his dorm the quiet seemed to get thicker; he saw that Toshiya was asleep, sprawled out over his bed. He was spending a lot of time sleeping, these days.

The room was cold, and Ruki climbed onto his bed and pulled the covers up around his shoulders. He thought of Aoi, and the way his bed sheet had been used to tie him down, stuck up there in a place where there was no darkness.

And Kyo, stuffed into a room where there was no light.

Wouldn't _anybody_ go out of their mind? Didn't everybody, when they looked for long enough, start to see things in the dark?

As quietly as possible, he began easing the flap of the envelope open. He was about halfway done when Toshiya stirred, his brow knitting, and as he brought up one of his big hands to rub at his eyes Ruki shoved the envelope hastily under his bed.

'Hey, cellmate,' Toshiya yawned, blinking at him sleepily, 'Too bad you're back. I was hoping I'd get to jerk off again.'

'Tough luck.'

'Tough luck for you,' Toshiya countered, stretching, 'I don't know that I'm gonna be able to restrain myself.'

'Nice,' Ruki said sourly, and Toshiya snorted.

'As if you're not going at yourself as soon as the door closes behind me. I mean, it's not like there's anything else to do.'

Ruki chose to ignore that. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and watched as Toshiya switched on the radio, never far out of reach. It hissed into life, and Toshiya pulled a face.

'Why can't it ever remember what station it was last tuned to?'

'It's all right,' Ruki said defensively, and Toshiya gave him a curious look. Ruki shrugged inside his blanket. 'It was Kai's,' he muttered, trying not to meet his roommate's eye. Toshiya didn't seem to have anything to say to that, so he busied himself with twisting the dial this way and that, sometimes getting a quick snatch of song and sometimes an advert, sometimes a burst of chatter, now a sedate voice reading a news bulletin, now an excitable voice saying _The Condors with their 1962 Motown hit—_

'Shit!' Toshiya frantically dialled it back, the radio fuzzing with static; there was a jittery pause that turned into _I'm back to show you I can really shake 'em down_ and he grinned, dropping the radio happily onto his bed and getting to his feet. 'C'mon, depressive,' he said lightly, holding out his hand. 'You can smile. I promise I won't tell anybody.'

'There's nothing to smile about,' Ruki said flatly, and Toshiya rolled his eyes. He stood in the middle of the room for the moment, the radio blaring, and then a slow smile spread across his face. Keeping his gaze fixed on Ruki in his little igloo of blankets, he set one foot carefully in front of the other and started to do the twist.

For a second the two of them simply stared at each other.

' _I can mash potato_ ,' he sang softly, ' _I can do the twist.._.' he wobbled and almost overbalanced; the space between their two beds was almost too narrow to contain his long legs, and his spiky figure seemed to be everywhere at once.

'What are you doing,' Ruki said uneasily, and Toshiya leant forward and took hold of both of his wrists.

' _Tell me baby, do you like it like this?_ '

Up close, Ruki thought, he looked ill. Sweat shone on his forehead and in the hollow of his throat and his skin was pale and waxy; his grip on Ruki's wrists was surprisingly strong, though, and reluctantly Ruki allowed himself to be dragged to his feet.

'C'mon,' Toshiya said a little breathlessly, holding up Ruki's arms and twirling dizzily beneath them, 'You're not helping anybody this way. You freaked out when I said Kyo was in the isolation room, so he must have been in there before, right?'

'Yes,' Ruki agreed grudgingly.

'So what'd you do last time?'

'We locked ourselves in the music room and turned the record player up full.'

'So can't you just...?'

'We're stuck in here,' Ruki said irritably, 'And there's no record player, so unless you're planning to pull one out of somewhere _very_ special—'

'We've got the radio,' Toshiya said, 'And after that performance a few days ago, you seriously want me to believe that you can't yell loud enough to be heard? He's only across the hall.' Clearing his throat, he dragged Ruki closer to the door.

 _'Do you love me?'_ he jabbed Ruki enthusiastically in the ribs.

 _'Do you love me?'_ Ruki mumbled, embarrassed, and Toshiya nodded wildly.

 _'Do you love me?'_ he urged, his own volume rising; _louder_ , he mouthed, and Ruki frowned.

_'Do you love me?'_

' _Nowww_ ,' Toshiya warbled, ' _That I can daaa-aaaa-aaance_ —'

'Watch me now!' Die's voice yelled suddenly from across the hall, and Ruki and Toshiya shot each other quick glances, Toshiya clearly delighted and Ruki with a strange sort of hopefulness rising in his chest, because if Die could join in then he could hear them, and if _Die_ could hear them then...

' _Ah, work it out baby!_ ' the three of them bawled all together, ' _Oh, you're driving me crazy! With a little bit of_ soul _now—_ '

Toshiya grinned and spun Ruki around; raised his arms above his head and started to swing his hips, ' _I can mash potato—'_

_'I CAN MASH POTATO!'_

_'I can do the twist—'_

_'I CAN DO THE TWIST!'_

_'Now tell me baby—'_

_'TELL ME BABY!'_

_'Do you like it like this?'_

_'DO YOU LIKE IT LIKE THIS?_ '

'Tell me!' Die yelled.

'Tell me!'

' _Tell_ me!'

The door opened with a snap, sending the two of them stumbling back. In the doorway, the nurse on duty regarded them sternly, and held her hand out for the radio.

Flopping down on his bed, Toshiya pushed his sweaty hair out of his face, lividly blue circles showing up under his eyes. He gave a loose shrug.

'It was worth it,' he said, sounding out of breath, and even as he handed over the radio he gave the nurse a beatific smile.

 

The rest of the day passed in a slow, heavy sort of daze. In the middle of the afternoon the sun came out and then barely moved, its light shimmering innocently on the snow as, inside the hospital, Ruki and Toshiya watched it from the window and silently begged it to start its slow descent below the horizon. Birds seemed to hang in mid air, and the clouds looked painted on. There wasn't a breath of wind.

To Ruki, even his own heartbeat sounded slow and ponderous in his ears, and outside of his own head the silence was huge. Toshiya seemed to have lost his energy; he flopped down onto his bed with a book and turned the pages in slow motion, a muscle working away constantly in his jaw and his shoulders unusually tense. Even with the window open, the air smelled stale.

At half past five, their dinner was brought in on two trays; rice with fish and mixed greens. After a day of sitting around, neither of them had much appetite, and Ruki watched as Toshiya stirred through his food in much the same way as he had stirred through the pages of his book, his chopsticks dangling limply from his fingers.

'I suppose we're lucky,' he said dully when the food had been taken away, watching as darkness began to gather in the edges of the windowpane.

'How d'you figure?' Ruki asked. He wanted a cigarette, but he'd run out, and he he shifted on the bed uncomfortably. This room was so small.

'We're together,' Toshiya said. 'We have each other, at least. Somebody to talk to.'

The two of them smiled at each other a little weakly, and Toshiya sat back against his pillow. 'What'd you do before this?'

'Before...coming here? I was in art school.'

Toshiya whistled lowly. 'Cool.'

'Not really. I got kicked out. Did you ever go anywhere like that?'

'Art school?'

'Or regular college, or...'

Smiling a little wryly, Toshiya shook his head. 'I'm far too dumb,' he said lightly. 'Didn't even finish high school.'

'Why not?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. One day I woke up and I felt like I'd just had enough. So I went to school, and then halfway through the day I walked out. Never went back.'

'Wow. What'd your parents say?'

Toshiya shrugged. 'I don't know. I never went back to them, either.'

Ruki frowned at him. 'So you just...left?'

'Yep.'

'But...why?'

Toshiya paused. 'I don't know,' he said, and Ruki could tell from his tone of voice that it was the truth, 'It was like I just got sick of everything, just then.'

Ruki snorted. 'You sound like such a cool guy,' he said before he could stop himself, 'Like somebody from a movie. “I just got sick of everything, just then”.'

'Well, I am a very cool guy,' Toshiya said, straight-faced. 'I wouldn't have expected a loser like you to notice.'

'Yeah, you can do the mashed potato dance and everything, right?'

'And I can do the twist,' Toshiya added.

Tiredly, they grinned at each other, but there didn't seem to be anything more to say. Toshiya stared off into space, and Ruki lowered his eyes reluctantly to the pencil in his hand, and about ten minutes of silence passed before one of the nurses unlocked the door and told them it was time for their showers.

 

Every second outside of the room felt precious. Ruki was conscious of brushing his teeth extra thoroughly, to eke out his time; when he got in the shower he washed himself all over twice, and spent almost ten minutes using his fingers to detangle his hair under the spray. In the cubicle next to him, Toshiya didn't seem to be moving at all; the water splattered over the tiled floor with a telltale regularity, and the hint of his shadow that was visible under the partition was completely still.

The bathroom felt like a luxury; the way it echoed, the coolness and freshness of the tile. Ruki scrubbed himself until he felt his skin was glowing, and it was only when the water started to turn lukewarm that he reluctantly cranked it off and began to towel himself dry. He chased every stray droplet of water over his skin; by the time he put his clothes back on, his body was entirely dry.

He drew back the lock and met Toshiya's curious eyes.

'What?' he asked stupidly, and Toshiya shrugged.

'The nurse has gone,' he said slowly.

Ruki looked at him. Carefully, as though they might be stepping into some sort of a trap, they made their way to the bathroom door, and Ruki opened it whilst Toshiya peered down the hallway.

Die was standing outside of his bedroom door, looking uncertain. The nurse was seated behind her desk at the nurses' station, paying them no mind.

'Knew they couldn't do it forever,' Die said hoarsely. He stepped forward to tap on Uruha's door, and when he didn't get a response he gingerly turned the handle. 'Uru?'

Stepping down the hallway, Ruki had the impression of a pair of dark eyes shining at them from the gloom. Slowly, Uruha got to his feet and walked out towards them, his footsteps shuffling like an old man's. In the music room, somebody was playing the piano.

'That'll be Shinya,' Ruki said pointlessly.

The four of them didn't seem to know what to do; they stood around as if dazed. Uruha leant his body against the wall, watching Die a little pensively. He was standing still, Ruki realised belatedly, not twitching or tapping or even visibly counting. His breathing and blinking seemed to be normal.

It was startling, the way it seemed to change him; the transformation from twitching, shuttering mental patient to this calm, tall, self-assured looking young man. He could have been a college student, somebody with his own tiny studio apartment and a leather satchel to carry his books around campus; somebody who was on their way up, their path straight and clear; somebody who knew what their place was in the world.

It was like he was a different person, and Ruki realised he wasn't the only one who had noticed: Die didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off him, either. Uruha smiled at him shyly.

'Hey,' he said, and that was another change – his voice soft and deep, not strung tight and tense and clipped – 'Will you come with me?'

Wordless, apparently stupefied, Die nodded. He allowed Uruha to draw him into his bedroom, just inside the doorway, where the nurse wouldn't be able to see them. Standing close together like that, Ruki realised, they were just about the same height: strange how he'd never noticed that before.

Gently Uruha set his hands on Die's chest and smiled up into his face. When he kissed him it looked like an optical illusion, like a trick; it looked like a mirror folding in on itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this timely update! I would love to get this finished before I move next week. There's no way that would happen, but I'd love it anyway. 
> 
> I had to post this chapter quickly, before I lost my nerve...so sorry if you come across any errors. Please let me know if you do!


	44. Chapter 44

It was very late by the time that Ruki was finally able to open Sato's envelope. The mood on the ward had been a bizarre one, half elated and half deeply, deeply subdued, with nobody knowing much what to say to each other; they had drifted off finally, most of them, to go and sit around in the music room, but Ruki had remained in the corridor. As soon as they had turned out of sight, he had sat himself carefully down by the isolation room door.

It was exactly the same with Kyo: he'd had no idea what to say. 'I'm here,' he'd managed at last, but there was no way to know whether or not he'd been heard; the silence from the room beyond was as still and perfect as death. Still, he had sat out there all evening, occasionally trailing his fingers over the floor in case Kyo could see his shadow moving through the little strip of light that ran under the door. It struck him that he didn't feel particularly happy or sad. The panic and excitement seemed to have cancelled each other out, and he was left feeling quite blank. A little after ten o'clock, the nurse on duty had come to usher him into bed, and he'd gone without an argument.

Then, it had taken Toshiya a long time to get to sleep. He'd wanted to talk about Die and Uruha, and about how calm and confident and altogether _strange_ Uruha had seemed, and although Ruki had answered him with 'dunno's and monosyllables, his enthusiasm didn't dampen itself until long past midnight.

Now, he sat in a nest of blankets on his bed, shivering a little in the chill of the night. The ward was entirely quiet, and the sound of him tearing open the envelope seemed huge. On the bed next to his, Toshiya was breathing slowly and evenly, and Ruki eyed him a little suspiciously before he finally eased the flap open and upended the envelope over the bed.

Although it was thick, the only thing that fell out was the letter that Ruki had remembered – a narrow white envelope with his name and address at the sanatorium neatly printed in brown ink. It had an Osaka postmark, he saw. He sparked his lighter and examined it more closely by the lambent flame; it was, as Sato had promised, completely untouched.

He ripped it open before he could lose his nerve, almost tearing the letter itself. He unfolded it, and the first sentence seemed to hit him in the face: _I regret to inform you..._

He leant back against the wall, breathing slowly and deeply.

Something hard seemed to lodge itself in his chest, and a sour sort of taste in his mouth forced his face into a grim expression. He had expected this, he realised.

 

_Dear Mr Matsumoto:_

_I regret to inform you that, following a lengthy conference with my colleagues on the board of directors, we are sadly unable to offer you any scholarship or financial grant for the academic year 1971/1972._

_You are of course welcome and very much encouraged to apply for attendance without funding. I do hope this decision will not limit your future at our institution._

_Although the decision of the board is final, I find myself extremely impressed by your work, and would like to meet with you to discuss some other avenues you may wish to explore. In particular, the Institute of Art is framing an exhibition starting in the summer of 1971 entitled_ Mapping Change: New Perspectives on Modernity _. I feel your work would be perfectly placed for our show, and would like to formally offer you the chance to exhibit._

_I understand from our mutual friend Dr Sato that your plans for the next year have not yet been finalised. Having spent some time in a similar facility myself in my youth, I quite understand the difficult situation you may presently be finding yourself in. If you do decide you would be interested in showing your work, I trust you will not hesitate to let me know of anything I can do to facilitate this arrangement for you._

_I hope very much that we might work together in the future, and wish you the best of luck with your recovery._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Takeji Iwamiya_

 

Ruki folded the letter up carefully.

It seemed very, very important not to crease it. With slow movements, his fingers trembling just a little, he slid it back into its white envelope and smoothed down the flap. He had the immediate urge to read it again, but instead placed it gently down on his pillow and stared at it apprehensively, pinching his lower lip absently between his thumb and forefinger.

An exhibition at the institute. _His_ work in an exhibition.

The idea felt too big to fit in his mind. Across the room, Toshiya murmured softly but slept on.

He'd been to the university's exhibition space, of course, and it was _huge_. Not only that, but the summer exhibitions almost never featured any work by students; those were for serious, established artists. People like Eiji; not _him_. Shortly after they'd met, Eiji had even taken him there; he remembered how they'd wandered around the hardwood floors and Eiji had told him about the various pieces on display, though he'd been too nervous to remember a word. He'd been anxious to get it over with, he remembered, so that he could go home and enjoy it properly: replay it in his mind, linger on every gentle touch and look the older man had given him. Eiji had seemed so remote, back then. He had seemed so untouchable.

It had been the best time in their relationship, he thought bitterly, those few short weeks when Ruki was nursing a fierce crush and Eiji was just beginning to look at him; just beginning to take notice. No mistakes had been made, back then. Eiji had still been everything he'd imagined.

At length, Ruki remembered that there had been something else bulking out the large envelope; he picked it up again and stuffed his shaking hand inside. It felt like a bound essay or dissertation, he thought as he tugged at it; the pages were A4 sized and bundled thickly together. When he at last worked it free, his eyes snapped wide open: this wasn't from Iwamiya.

No, this could only be from Sato.

 

His own name was printed neatly on the front cover, and when he turned it back the first thing he saw was his own intake form – yes, there was his signature, looking childishly young and scrawly, almost unformed. There was his own lost-looking face staring a little mournfully out of a copy of a black and white photo, attached to the document with a couple of large, stiff paper clips; he leafed past it. _Intake Assessment_ , the next page was headed, and he felt his mouth go a little dry as he read quickly through it: he read _suicide attempt_ and _evidence of self-injury/mutilation (wrist banging, biting at skin etc.)_ , g _enerally negative outlook_ , _lack of interest in school/caree_ r...

'Why?' Ruki whispered to himself, hardly realising that he was speaking out loud, 'Why would you give me this?'

Toshiya gave a quiet, snorting sort of snore and shifted onto his back. His eyes were moving behind his eyelids, Ruki noticed distantly: he must have been dreaming. His brow was slightly furrowed.

Nervously, Ruki turned the pages. He caught snatches of diagnosis; saw where Kimura had written _fear of abandonment_ and underlined it twice; saw the neatly typed and stamped incident report detailing the day he'd shoved a burning cigarette butt into the skin of his own wrist – the whitish scar there seemed to throb – and the neat paperwork transferring responsibility for him from Doctor Kimura to Dr Sato, signed by both. He saw pages and pages of photocopied notes and their scribbled conclusions, little snatches of his own words brushing past him like ghosts – except they weren't the ghosts, he thought; _he_ was. Not his present self, but the Ruki represented in these pages; sad, and defeated, and scared. _He_ was the ghost. He was the one, after all, who had passed out of existence.

He saw Hiroshi's name, and his eyes stung. Poor Hiroshi: he hadn't deserved this, to be dead and buried and then resurrected in the notes made at some distant hospital, miles and miles away from his lonely grave. Ruki bit down on his thumb agitatedly.

 _Survivor's guilt_ , Sato had written, and Ruki closed the rest of the file without finishing it. He felt the urge to get far away from it, as though it might contaminate him in some way, but settled for simply using his very fingertips to push it away down the bed. He sat, chewing on his lip, between the two documents: Iwamiya's letter on his pillow, his own file at the foot of his bed.

 _Why_ would Sato give him this? Was it supposed to help his recovery; supposed to show him how far he had come? Was he supposed to be reflecting on it – on the choice between Iwamiya's offered future and his own rotten, stunted past?

_It's up to you what you do with it. You might find it useful and you might not._

As if compelled, he turned and fixed the door with a long, thoughtful stare.

_You might find it useful and you might not._

But what, Ruki thought, if it hadn't been meant for him at all?

His hands were truly shaking now; he could feel how they trembled as he smoothed his hair and his clothes down. He knew what he had to do, and he knew that he couldn't do it without help, but before he woke up Toshiya he simply sat for a moment, trying to even out his breathing, searching for his resolve.

His heart beat high in his chest. He slipped off the bed and tiptoed over to poke his roommate awake.

 

'Toshiya,' he whispered, 'Toshiya. Wake up. C'mon.'

Sleepily, Toshiya groaned, and Ruki grit his teeth.

'Come _on_ ,' he hissed, 'Wake up.'

Deftly, he reached out and pinched Toshiya's nose, holding it fast. With a snorting noise, the other man came out of sleep, glaring at him in groggy confusion.

'What the hell?' he slurred.

'Good, you're up,' Ruki said smoothly, ignoring the shake in his voice, 'I need a favour.'

Toshiya groaned again, letting his eyes fall closed. 'Can't this favour wait until morning?'

Ruki bit his lip. 'No. Sorry.'

'Piss off,' Toshiya muttered, attempting to drag his pillow over his face, and Ruki sighed.

'I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important,' he said, trying to make his voice soft and persuasive even though he could hear how brittle and tense it sounded, 'I swear, Toshiya, it won't take long, and if we get into trouble I'll take all the blame, I promise—'

'Trouble?' Toshiya pulled the pillow off his face, eyeing Ruki shrewdly. 'You think we haven't been in enough trouble recently?'

'I know, but this is different.'

'Bet the punishment will be the same,' Toshiya said moodily, but he sat himself up.

'I need to open a door,' Ruki said, and Toshiya yawned widely.

'What door?'

'The isolation room door. I was thinking about it and – you know, it's just a standard lock, like the one between the ward and the stairwell, so couldn't you pick it?'

Toshiya looked at him grumpily.

'Maybe,' he said in a grudging tone, 'But I'd need something to pick it with. Don't suppose you're smuggling any hairpins, are you?'

'No, but...is that really the only way?'

'Oh yeah, you're right, I forgot that I could just magic it open.'

'No, I mean...wouldn't anything else work?'

'Hmph.' Toshiya sighed. 'I don't know, it just needs to be flexible and strong. I mean, flexible enough for me to bend it, but not so flexible that it'll just bend in the lock. It's gotta be able to push the pins up.'

'Pins?'

'Pins,' Toshiya repeated, slightly impatiently, 'They're how a lock works; you need to push them up to turn it.'

'Right,' Ruki said quickly, none the wiser, 'So what would work? Hair pins...a wire hanger?'

'Too thick.'

'Haven't you ever used anything else?'

'A knife,' Toshiya said, pulling a face, 'But that works differently, and we'd never be able to get our hands on one. Sometimes you can do it if you've got a couple of shards of metal, or something; you can use a beer can tab, sometimes, if you can hammer it out okay. Paper clips can work—'

'Paper clips?' Ruki said instantly, and Toshiya blinked at him.

'Sometimes,' he said warily. 'What, you've got some lying around? For all your home office needs?'

Wordlessly, Ruki grabbed his file off the bed and threw it into Toshiya's lap. He then stared hastily down at the blanket on his roommate's bed, unwilling to acknowledge the strange, solemn look the other man was giving him.

'On the first page,' he muttered, 'The photo of me is held on with paper clips. Will they do?'

He heard the rustle of paper, and Toshiya was quiet for a moment.

'Yeah,' he said at last, 'Yeah, I think so.'

When Ruki managed to drag his eyes up to meet Toshiya's, he found the other man gazing at him soberly, and gently his roommate handed his file back to him. 'Here.'

'Yeah. Thanks.'

Toshiya took a deep breath, and smiled at him.

'Ready?' he checked.

'I'm ready. You?'

' _Born_ ready. C'mon.'

 

It was completely silent out in the hallway as Toshiya, yawning and shivering slightly, knelt down with Ruki's two paper clips in front of the isolation room door. He started steadily picking away as Ruki hovered behind him, ostensibly keeping watch, though he couldn't say to what end – anybody he saw was bound to see the both of them just as quickly, and what would happen then?

Even if Toshiya didn't seem that concerned, Ruki didn't want to get him in trouble. There was something about the way he accepted punishment – so matter-of-factly, so unquestioningly, as if it was only ever all that he deserved – that made Ruki feel somehow sad.

It was a tense five minutes that the two of them spent out in the corridor, growing colder and colder; there was a chill in the air of the type that only ever seemed to exist between the hours of two and five in the morning, and Ruki could see it raising goosebumps all over his bare arms. He hugged them tightly to himself as Toshiya concentrated on the lock, humming _Do You Love Me?_ absently under his breath as he worked, and the two of them exhaled softly when, with a quiet clicking noise, Toshiya finally twisted the lock open.

He sat back on his heels and looked up at Ruki a little strangely.

'All done,' he said quietly. 'Sure you want to do this?'

Ruki tried for a smile. 'You don't even know what I'm doing,' he said lightly, and Toshiya shrugged.

'I guess not.'

Ruki hesitated. 'Thanks, Toshiya.'

Snorting, Toshiya punched him softly on the arm. When he spoke again it was over his shoulder as he disappeared back into their bedroom, and in that floating tone of voice that Ruki could never fully understand, 'Yeah, any time.'

So. Ruki hovered in front of the door, nervously adjusting and readjusting his grip on his file. He knew that if he allowed himself to hesitate too long he'd be out there forever, so he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

Oddly enough, the image that came into his mind was the image he'd used to get of Hiroshi; of the great ship rolling into the dock, the figure on the deck almost too small to see, but getting clearer and clearer and closer and closer all the time. Ruki pushed open the door.

 

His first thought, stupid as it was, was that it couldn't possibly be Kyo. The sight of his body so hunched over and broken looking was so unfamiliar that for a moment, Ruki had a brief moment of something akin to panic: suppose they'd done something really awful to him, far more terrible than he'd ever understood; suppose they'd changed him in some way, made him into some other person, huddled so compliantly over in a corner?

Then a slice of dim light from the hallway fell over Kyo's face, and he opened his eyes a crack. His gaze was disoriented, utterly uncomprehending and so suspicious that Ruki's first impulse was to take a step backwards, as if to prove he meant no harm, but he found his legs taking him forward instead.

The door closed behind him, and it was _dark_. How could he have forgotten how dark it was? He immediately stumbled, dropping the file; he turned and lost his bearings, feeling uncertainly for the wall. He could hear an awful noise, a kind of scrabbling noise; the sound of some small and frightened animal trying to escape, flattening itself against a wall, trying to burrow into it.

'It's okay,' he whispered, hearing his own voice shake. There was no response, and carefully he lowered himself to the floor, blindly crawling forwards. His hand touched something warm and felt it flinch back from him, cringing.

'It's okay,' he said again, his voice tight, 'I promise it is. It's just me.'

Tentatively, he moved closer. Kyo's body was shivering violently, but when Ruki touched him this time he remained still; perhaps he felt there was nowhere he could escape to. Feeling his way, he moved his hand carefully from Kyo's arm to his shoulder, dropping down over his collarbone, coming to rest in the centre of his chest. Beneath his palm, the other man's heartbeat raced; his breaths were fast and shallow.

'Easy,' he whispered, 'Just take it easy.' Beneath his T-shirt Kyo's skin felt cool to the touch, and Ruki felt a sharp twist of anger: who could dump a person in here like this, all night, without even a blanket to keep warm? Who could open the door on this and possibly think that they were doing the right thing; could turn the key in the lock and forget about it?

Cautiously, Ruki shifted closer, sitting up straighter against the padded wall. Next to him Kyo felt small with his body slumped as it was, and gently Ruki slipped his other arm around his shoulders, trying to share some of his body heat. There was an awful moment where Kyo's whole body went rigid and Ruki was worried he'd throw him off, but the two of them stuck it out: it took time but, still and silent, Ruki began to have a strange sense of the man next to him unfurling in some way, as though part of him was putting out some soft kind of tendrils or shoots: a strange, exploratory, not-quite touch, like a plant leaning towards sunlight. Some of the tension seemed to leave his muscles, but his heart raced as fast as ever.

 

They were quiet for a long time; the only sound was Kyo's breathing, quick and light. The darkness was so complete that Ruki's eyes couldn't adjust to it. He looked around himself despairingly, trying to gauge where the walls might be, how far away that dim strip of light showing under the door was; he remembered how horribly endless the darkness had seemed when he'd been shut in here, how he'd felt so lost within it. It had played with his head, tricked him into seeing shadows on the walls, movements like plants under the floor; it had taken over him, made him hear Eiji's voice whispering as if from inside his own mind.

It was strange thinking back to how defenceless he'd felt then; how completely incapable he'd been, trapped inside his own head.

Somewhere along the line, he realised, he'd become stronger. He'd become much stronger.

He remembered his friends playing music for him outside the door, the sounds of them singing and dancing and the way their shadows had moved; he remembered the clicking sound of tapes being changed over in the cassette player; he remembered Kyo's low, serious, gentle voice: _pretend you're outside. It helps._

And Kyo would be all right, he thought, because he had always been strong. It was all over him; even in the way he sat now, hunched into himself, stalwart and stubborn as ever. Refusing to cry out or break down the way Ruki would have done; refusing to run away. Never giving in; never giving up, ever.

'I'm so sorry,' Ruki said at last, his voice soft in the stillness and quiet, 'I'm sorry that I called out for you that time, and that I ended up getting you into this. I just...I had to speak to you. I wasn't trying anything bad like they thought; I was trying to get to you. I – I wanted to tell you that I was really sorry about before, and that I don't think you're crazy; I think you're the sanest person I've ever met, and I think that you're smart, and I...' he hesitated, feeling uncertain, 'I miss you. I miss spending time with you, and I miss watching you write in your notebook, and I miss talking to you because even if – even if you don't say much, you use your mind in a really interesting way, and I always want to hear more.' He paused, biting down on his lip nervously, 'I have my file, and when you're out of here, I want you to read it. And then...and then maybe we can be friends again. If you can forgive me.'

There was a long silence.

'It's really you,' Kyo said finally.

His voice was hoarser than Ruki had ever heard it, cracked and broken sounding.

'It's me,' he said quickly, seriously, 'And it's okay. You're going to get out of here. I promise you that you're going to get out.'

Even as he said it, he knew it was a promise he had no business making.

'Just keep holding on,' he whispered.

Neither of them said anything more after that, but Ruki felt the change as Kyo's body finally relaxed into his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Just kidding.


	45. Chapter 45

By the time Ruki left the isolation room a dim greyish light was beginning to filter through the sanatorium windows, a bleary, dirty sort of light that made Ruki shiver. He'd tiptoed across the hall, thanking whatever God there might be that the nurses' station was still deserted, and tentatively slipped around the door of his dorm room.

There was something he had to do – something he knew he had to do, but it made his heart hurt.

He found Toshiya sitting up on his bed, the bent paper clips in his hands. He looked up at Ruki tiredly and smiled, watching as he placed the gathered pages from his file neatly back into their envelope.

'I was scared you'd fallen asleep in there. Your life wouldn't be worth living if they'd caught you.'

Wordless, Ruki simply shook his head, and Toshiya's smile slipped a little.

'I don't want to do this,' he confessed lowly, staring down at the paper clips, his dark hair shifting around his shoulders as he shook his head, 'It feels wrong. Like I'm part of it.'

'I know,' Ruki said softly.

'But we have to, don't we?'

Helpless, Ruki spread his hands. 'I don't see how they won't know, if we don't. It'll come back to you, and I'm scared...I'm scared they might take it out on him, too.'

Slowly, stiff-jointed, Toshiya got to his feet.

'C'mon, then.'

Checking briefly around the doorway for any members of staff, Ruki led Toshiya back to the isolation room door and watched as he knelt in front of it. Swallowing, Toshiya slipped the paper clips into the lock, and then hesitated.

'You ever think about what happens when you die?' he asked.

'I...yeah, of course.'

Toshiya bit his lip. 'I worry sometimes that I'll be made to answer for all the bad things I've done. None of my excuses are going to be good enough. When I'm asked about this, what am I going to say; that I didn't want to get in _trouble_? That it was the _rule_?'

Ruki didn't know what to say to that; there didn't seem to be any answer. Instead, he simply set his hand on his friend's shoulder, and after a moment's hesitation Toshiya busied himself with the lock. It didn't take him as long, this time; his hands worked skilfully and soon the lock clicked softly closed again. Slowly, Toshiya got to his feet and tested the door: shut tight.

'Done,' he said, his voice strange. In the predawn quiet both men went silently back to their beds, and although Ruki couldn't be completely sure, he was fairly certain that Toshiya, too, lay wide awake until morning.

 

The next week passed so slowly, the entire ward seemed to be in a daze. Everywhere Ruki looked, people seemed to be stuck in time; here was Shinya studying the shadow of the windows bars on the TV room floor, splaying out his own fingers so they were bisected by the light; here was Uruha with a book open in his lap, reading the same page over and over so slowly that his eyes blurred; here was Die sat at the dining table, a troubled look on his face, the amount of food in front of him never seeming to shrink no matter how many mouthfuls he took.

It seemed to Ruki that their skins might have shimmered softly, too pale from the weeks cooped up inside. Like insects, he thought, trapped in amber; they arranged themselves decoratively, in a tableaux of activity, but really they were dead and stiff and frozen.

He knew that he was equally lacklustre. He spent his days sitting outside the isolation room door, talking himself hoarse about whatever happened to come into his head; he brought Die's portable cassette player with him and borrowed heavily from his collection of tapes, not selecting song by song but instead letting whole albums play out. He talked about paintings and drawings, described them in detail so it wouldn't matter that Kyo had never seen them.

And the time felt so _heavy_. It seemed to be that more than anything that was dragging them all down; the enormous pressure of time, weighty on their backs, crushing the movement out of them. Ruki felt unable to breathe, almost.

Without argument or even discussion, Toshiya rose with him every night to pick the lock of the isolation room door. They learned which nurses took their night duties seriously and which didn't: a few times Ruki poked his head around the door to find a white uniform dutifully placed at the nurses' station desk, and he would be forced to retreat back into the darkness of his bedroom. Toshiya would be watching him with big eyes; he'd give his head a brief shake, and his roommate would slump.

The look in Toshiya's eyes on those occasions was a strange one: a sort of caged look, fenced-in and dangerous, as though there was something on the other side of the isolation room door that he was desperately seeking. He seemed unable to sleep after those times and stayed awake fidgeting, getting up to pace the floors, smoking cigarettes too quickly, and Ruki knew that he should have tried to do something – should have questioned him about it; should have perhaps stopped asking him to pick the lock altogether, but he couldn't. Every time he even considered it, he seemed to see Kyo's confused, wild-eyed face in front of his eyes – the suspicious way he'd flinched back from the light; the fearfulness of his huddled posture – and it had forced his hand: he simply couldn't leave him in there alone. He hardly even spoke to him, at night, and it was even rarer that Kyo said anything back, but it seemed to make a difference when he just sat there. He would feel it all over again, the way Kyo's tense body would gradually relax towards him, and a couple of times the other man had fallen asleep against him. His dreams were fitful ones, always short-lived; when he woke it was with a stiffening of his entire body, and he wouldn't be able to relax again for a long while.

The nights when Ruki couldn't get in, he wondered if Kyo was sleeping; if he was able to sleep alone in there, in all that darkness.

He couldn't bear the thought that he might be feeling abandoned.

 

Christmas was coming, but nobody seemed to feel very festive. A few of the more spirited nurses erected a small, artificial tree in the corner of the TV room, and one of them had draped some tinsel around the desk in the nurses' station, but Ruki couldn't see why they'd bothered. What good was a holiday, stuck in a place like this? Time didn't seem to mean anything any more.

It was into this mood, a week before Christmas day, when Aoi finally reappeared. Ruki was sitting in the corridor outside the isolation room as normal, surrounded by tape cassettes and doing the best he could to keep up a continuous patter of talk, and he was in a position to see it quite clearly when the door to the stairwell was swung open and two white-uniformed orderlies led Aoi through. They were gripping him by the elbows and Ruki stared, his heart hammering nervously, trying to get a good look at his face; because now – now Aoi's walk was _slow_ , almost tottering, and his hair hung down in tangles around his shoulders, and his posture seemed so _bowed_ —

'Can you get your hands off me yet?' a voice snarled from in amongst the knots of hair, 'I know I've taken a few volts to the head but I can still fucking _walk_.'

Ruki's face split into a hopeful smile.

' _Aoi_ —'

Down the corridor Aoi flinched the orderlies off him, sweeping his messy hair back from his face; his stubble had grown out longer than ever, and he ran a hand through it a little ruefully.

'Hi, Ruki. Miss me?'

Ignoring his escorts, he set off down the hallway, keeping a hand braced against the wall to support himself; Ruki stood up to meet him but he waved him back down, smiling. Just a little weakly, he slid down the wall to sit opposite him, sighing softly when he got himself safely settled.

'It's nothing to worry about,' he said, catching Ruki's look, 'Just haven't used my legs much over the past few weeks, that's all.'

'Right,' Ruki said, 'Are you...okay?'

'Oh, sure. Fully charged, you know.'

'Aoi,' Ruki said softly, and the other man's smile seemed to get a little stiff. Forcing a laugh, he shook his head, tugging at his tangled hair a little self-consciously.

'I look a mess,' he said. 'Thanks for not running away at the sight of me. Who's...' he nodded at the door behind Ruki, 'in there?'

Ruki fiddled with the tape he was holding in his lap. It was close enough, but his vision didn't seem to be working properly; he couldn't tell which one it was any more.

'Kyo,' he answered quietly, and Aoi paused.

'Oh,' he said softly. 'Is he—?'

'He's been in there for two weeks.'

He glanced up blindly, seeing the newly sombre expression on Aoi's face. Their dark gazes caught, and Ruki felt a strange kind of understanding pass between them.

'They'll be letting him out soon,' Aoi said at last, his voice a little slower than usual, 'They'll have to, because of the holiday.'

'Holiday?'

Aoi shrugged. 'With all the families visiting, they won't exactly want to advertise that they've got somebody locked up in a fucking isolation cell.' He hesitated. 'That's why they brought me back down, I think. Don't want Die's parents asking any awkward questions, making them look bad...' he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, scrutinising the walls and ceiling of the corridor listlessly. 'This place is such a fucking dump.'

Ruki's jaw didn't seem to be working properly: it struggled to form the words.

'Uruha and Die will be so happy you're back,' he managed at last.

'They'd better be.' Aoi smiled wearily.

'Uruha's been...sort of different since he saw you.'

'Different?'

There was no mistaking the sudden focus in Aoi's eyes; the way his attention snapped directly to Ruki's face, checking for lies.

'He's not as bad as before,' Ruki said carefully. 'When you were first taken away he went kind of – kind of inside himself, sort of deaf and dumb. But since we all got up to see you he's been...clearer.'

'Clearer,' Aoi repeated, but he seemed to just be turning the word over.

'Yeah. Like he's more – focussed. Or more present, or something. He's kind of...normal, almost,' Ruki said, feeling flustered, and Aoi smiled at him.

'I've seen him like that before.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' He shrugged, his voice carefully casual: 'Never lasts.'

'Why not? I mean – what happens?'

'He gets things straight,' Aoi said simply, 'In his head. For once, he gets everything straight. And I think it calms him down; understanding things, getting them in the right order; making the right connections. His mind is...it's a pretty confused place, sometimes. He's got so much to work against; he's got so much _rubbish_ in there – so much _garbage_ that was forced in there,' Aoi said, his jaw clenched. 'But every so often, he gets a window. And even if he can't get out of his head, he can at least see what's real and what isn't; he can at least tell what the lies are. He can at least see that there _are_ lies.'

He stopped, looking faintly miserable, and Ruki fiddled awkwardly with the cassette in his lap, flipping the case open and then shutting it again.

'So what happens?' Ruki asked cautiously, 'When he – why does he lose it?'

Aoi's smile was bitter, unhappy. ' _Daddy_ , of course.'

He sighed and stretched out his legs over the floor, nudging Ruki's feet familiarly with his own. He was barefoot, and the bones in his feet looked as thin and fragile as glass.

 

Dinner that day was the noisiest it had been in a long, long while; almost as raucous as it had been back in what Ruki was already thinking of as _the olden days_ , when Kai was still alive and before Die had collapsed; before anything, really. Aoi chose to make a grand entrance, stowing himself carefully out of sight before strolling in just as casually as if he was coming back from nowhere further than the bathroom; he looked slightly crestfallen to see that he'd arrived there before Die and Uruha. A little moodily, he took a seat right in the middle of an empty side of the table.

Whilst he waited he jittered, fiddling with his chopsticks almost anxiously; as soon as he saw them – walking in together, not holding hands or even touching, but keeping so close together that Ruki would be surprised if there was even an inch of empty space between their bodies – his face broke into a wide, slightly nervous smile.

'Miss me?' he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. It was all he had time to say before they fell upon him, more or less engulfing him; Die's long arms wrapped around his waist and Uruha clutched at his shoulders, pressing his face into Aoi's hair. It was awkward, the three of them huddling together like that; the chairs set around the table were caught in between them, scraping across the floor when they tried to shift; Aoi wobbled and might have slipped off his seat entirely if it hadn't been for the vice-like arms holding him up.

'You look so different,' Die commented, touching the beard growth on Aoi's face with gentle fingers.

'It's coming off, don't worry.'

'I kind of like it, actually.'

'Great; when I shave it off, you can have it.'

Uruha simply pressed his face further into Aoi's hair, his hands white-knuckled with the strength of his grip. He didn't look happy, Ruki thought; his face was hidden but there was something about his body language that seemed to be sagging, almost drooping; he was clinging to Aoi as though he was the only thing holding him up. He was saying something, but it was inaudible until Aoi very gently prised him off, settling him into his own seat. Tenderly, he brushed the hair back from his flushed, miserable looking face.

'Uru?' he said gently, and Uruha frowned, shaking his head.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

He bit agitatedly at his finger. 'It's all my fault.'

'It's not your fault.'

Eyes wet and red, Uruha shook his head roughly.

'I'm going to make it better,' he whispered.

Aoi's smile was gentle, but it was obvious that he didn't believe him; the way he touched him, kissed him softly on the cheek, was simply too kind.

 

It couldn't be said, Ruki thought, that Aoi was back to his old self – not entirely. He seemed more pensive; there were moments when the wide grin seemed to freeze or start to slip from his face for a moment, and when the food arrived in front of them and he couldn't remember the word _mackerel_ for the grilled fish, he started to draw his thumbnail back and forth across his teeth anxiously.

He was trying, though, and that was what seemed to make the difference; his enthusiasm might have been ragged, a little forced, but it worked. He rocked back in his chair and attempted to juggle the three small potatoes on his plate, his face a mask of concentration; he made a game out of trying to fling food into Die's mouth whenever he opened it to speak; when the nurse supervising Die's mealtime tetchily asked him to quieten down, he resorted to a series of vivid and almost violent mimes, mouthing elaborate messages that Uruha announced to the table at large, concentrating too intently and blushing, growing flustered, when Aoi led him to say something particularly questionable.

In his own – admittedly rather obnoxious – way, he was dragging the light back in. He was shaking up the sad ghosts around the table and forcing them to smile, or laugh; he was linking his arms through Uruha's and Die's and laying his head on their shoulders; he was kicking Ruki in the shins under the table. He set his sights on Toshiya; reached out and grasped his wrist in his strong, skinny hand. He led his hand to his water glass and bullied his fingers into gripping it. Toshiya raised an eyebrow.

Carefully, both hands clasped around Toshiya's, he jerked the other man's water glass upwards and sent the contents splattering into his own face.

There was a silence during which not even the nurse watching Die seemed to know what to say.

'What the hell, man?' Toshiya murmured finally, and dripping, Aoi released his hand.

'Now we're even,' he said, shivering involuntarily as droplets of water slid from his hair down the neck of his T-shirt. Doggedly, he and Toshiya stared at each other for a moment; just long enough for Aoi to start grow uncertain and start fidgeting.

'You really are crazy,' Toshiya said at last, but he smiled.

'Yeah,' Aoi responded a little nervously, 'Sorry.'

'Not the craziest, though,' Die said, leaning forward on his elbows, 'I think I'm more nuts, personally.'

'Bullshit.'

'Excuse me? I'm so crazy that when I got out of here, I came _back_.'

'Both of you are wrong,' Uruha said resolutely, his voice soft, 'I'm definitely madder.'

It was funny, Ruki thought, watching them like that – the three of them crushed in so tightly together that their pointy elbows kept knocking. It occurred to him that he'd always assumed Aoi was the strongest, but look at the other two now: the way they leant into him, shoring him up; the way they stuck by his sides and found ways to smile and laugh and pretend that they hadn't gone through hell, missing him. They were playing along, Ruki realised, keeping things light because Aoi wanted or perhaps needed them kept light, and it was that strange understanding that made him wonder if Die was the strongest – the way he'd taken charge so fiercely when he'd learnt where Aoi was, the way he'd led them – or if perhaps it was even Uruha, stumbling through such a confusing world without each of them, his teeth gritted and his eyes shut, entirely undefended.

He suspected that had taken quite a bit more bravery than the brief, flashy acts of valour that you saw on TV or in comic books.

Maybe it was even all of them, neither one any stronger or weaker than the other. Just – _balanced_ , maybe; just better together.

Ignoring his food and the din of chatter and laughter around the table, he sat back, chewing on his fingernails distractedly. When he'd been with Eiji, there'd been no question about which of them was the strongest; it would have seemed stupid to even ask. Eiji had taken charge completely; had always been the one in control when Ruki was losing sleep and skipping meals and wanting so desperately to see him. It wasn't that he'd meant to miss out on those things, it was just that Eiji had occupied so much of his mind; it had seemed he hadn't needed them. How could he possibly have eaten when he already felt so full up of the other man? He'd listened to The Beatles singing that all you needed was love and felt that it was really, achingly true; it had seemed that he'd drifted through life in a kind of waking dream, sort of like swimming through fog, unable to see further than a few feet in front of him. He had spent so much time waiting for Eiji to look at him, to _approve_ of him, that it had seemed impossible to stop; when his lover called at midnight, one, two in the morning, his cigarette-deep voice husking _come over. I want to see you_ down the dorm phone, Ruki had jumped into his clothes and set off out into the darkness without question.

He remembered those nights now, how he'd shivered with a mixture of cold and nerves in his too-thin jacket, wearing it because it looked cooler on him than his heavier coat. Knowing he wouldn't make his morning classes. Leaning his bicycle up against the side of Eiji's building and pressing down on the buzzer, his fingers growing red and numb from the chill, hoping desperately that the other man hadn't forgotten about him.

Now, watching the three on the other side of the table, he wondered if maybe the only reason Eiji had held so much power was because he had given it to him.

_Aoi has power over Die and Uruha, because they love him. But if he loves them right back, that has to give him equal amounts of power over them, doesn't it?_

_And Eiji had power over me because I loved him. But I never had any power, because—_

'Ruki?'

He jumped to attention, flustered. Next to him, Toshiya was grinning a little shyly, reaching out to tug Ruki's hand away from his mouth.

'Eat your rice, loser. Not your fingers.'

Ruki nodded, and Toshiya gave a sort of squint, looking at him closer.

'You okay?' he asked, and Ruki nodded quickly.

'Mmhm. Yeah, of course.'

Almost tenderly, Toshiya elbowed him in the ribs.

'Liar.'

 

When the meal was over, the nurse sitting next to Die looked incredibly relieved. Whether by accident or design, she had been hit by quite a few of the edible missiles that Aoi had flung her patient's way, and judging by the look on her face Ruki thought she would probably be just as glad to never see the dark haired man ever again; when she left them sitting around the table, their trays finally cleared away, she slammed the door behind her rather harder than was necessary.

Die had a nervy sort of look in his eyes, and Aoi watched him curiously.

'You ate it all,' he said a little unnecessarily; hesitant, Die met his gaze.

'Yeah.'

Aoi paused. 'Thank you,' he said finally, and Die gave a snort of laughter that sounded somehow sad.

'I wasn't doing it for you, bighead,' he said lightly, and Aoi grinned, but his eyes were soft.

'I know, but...'

Die waved his words away, a smile on his face but the tendons standing out in his neck.

'I'm gonna need your help,' he said, keeping his voice forcefully casual, 'Over the next hour or so. Keeping me occupied.'

'I think that can probably be arranged.' Aoi gave a quick sniff. 'It's been a long time since I've done any dancing, you know. Pretty sure I've forgotten how.'

'You mean – because of the electri—'

'I'm kidding,' Aoi said, cutting him off with a laugh that almost sounded like crying. With effort, he turned in his seat, 'How about you, Uru? Think you remember your waltzing lessons?'

Uruha said something too quiet to hear, and Aoi leant closer. 'Huh?'

'I said – I _said_ that I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you again.' Uruha said in a rush, glaring at him fiercely, and very carefully, Aoi touched his shoulder.

'Thanks,' he said gently, and Uruha gave a stiff nod, the sharp expression on his face softening.

For a moment he seemed poised on the point of saying something else, but he gave his head a small shake, getting to his feet. It worked as a cue for all of them; as if he'd given them permission everybody around the table stood up, looking more than a little relieved that the tension had been broken. Ruki left Aoi and Die squabbling over which record to play and headed out into the corridor, ready to resume his vigil outside of the isolation room; when he got into the hallway, though, he stopped in his tracks.

The door was wide open. The room was empty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels like housekeeping, I'm sorry. It was stupidly hard to write. I'm not feeling super convinced or confident about the quality of this, but I'm kind of pushing hard to get content out before I move! Agh. Sorry!
> 
> Also: before anybody comments on how dumb Aoi's style of apologising is, I'd like to point out that I've used this technique to apologise to somebody before. _And it worked._


	46. Chapter 46

He couldn't explain why, but he waited until gone midnight.

It was a lie: he _could_ explain why. He was scared.

What exactly, Ruki wondered, could all that time in the isolation room do to a person? All the times he'd been in there Kyo had been almost completely uncommunicative, some part of him having retreated into a different world – what reason did Ruki have to believe that a mere change of scenery would have brought that part back? So far as he knew nobody on the ward had ever been forced to spend so long alone in the dark; suppose this time, they had gone too far?

Suppose wherever Kyo had gone to, he had gone there forever?

So he sat up, and he shivered as it grew later and later. A little before twelve, Toshiya fell asleep, his long pale arms thrown over his face as if in denial of something; still Ruki remained still, methodically scratching a small hole into his cotton pillowcase. The moon rose as a sliver, hardly there at all and somehow dirty looking; a chewed fingernail. The sky was rippled all over with thin clouds in odd patterns, like vertebrae, as if it had been layered all over with spinal cords. An owl hooted and Ruki wondered why he never saw it. He didn't know what kind of owl it was, even.

Kyo would have known.

As the clock approached one, he gathered up his file and placed his bare feet very carefully on the floor and stood up. His mattress creaked once, but Toshiya slept on. The white of the floor made his feet look an unhealthy colour.

It was gloomy out in the hallway. The only light was the desk light over at the nurses' station, and it seemed a very small and solitary yellow glow in the depth of the night; stupidly, as if attracted, Ruki walked towards it. He had a bizarre urge to hold his hand under it, to see if he looked as see-through as he felt.

Some strange serendipity, though, directed him to glance into the music room as he passed it, and his quiet footsteps stilled, because there was somebody in there. Well, not somebody: it was a silhouette he could have recognised anywhere, even in his dreams. Maybe it _was_ a dream, even: the feeling of recognition had a strange certainty to it, the way Ruki rarely felt in real life. Dreams, he was much more sure of himself.

Kyo was sitting at the piano, for all the world as though he intended to play it, although the cover was down and locked for the night. His hands rested upon it loosely, and as Ruki moved closer he got that peculiar sensation again, of things being a dream: Kyo simply looked too real, too distinct. Ruki could see the bones in his wrists, touchingly fragile against his big, capable-looking hands; he could see the slight lustre of his fingernails and the way the tendons stood out in his arms, belying the tension in his body. If he touched his shoulder, he knew, it would feel like razor wire, and for that reason he stood back, lingering like a shadow in the doorway. Behind the white-painted bars, he could see his own ghostly reflection in the black window, and Kyo's. Steadily, in that reflection, their eyes met.

 

Ruki didn't say anything, but he walked forward. Stiffly, Kyo got up from the piano stool and turned around, resting his elbows somewhat awkwardly behind him on its polished wooden surface.

Quite soberly, the two of them looked at each other. Kyo performed a slight incline of his head, a shadow of a bow, and Ruki shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. Like it was a ticket to enter, he held out his file. When Kyo only looked at it, he tossed it gently onto the top of the piano.

'You did say they'd let me out,' Kyo said finally, his tone of voice very controlled, and Ruki gave an anxious twitch of a shrug.

'I had no idea,' he admitted, 'I just...I didn't want you to give up.' He smiled wryly. 'As if you've ever given up.'

'I've given up sometimes.'

Ruki hesitated.

'With me you gave up. For a while.'

A slight nervous tic: the fingers of Kyo's left hand drummed soundlessly against the side of the piano.

'Correct.'

'Why?'

'I assumed you were done.'

'Done?' Ruki repeated, and the shadow of a smile crossed Kyo's face.

'You're not the first person who's tried to reach out to me,' he said plainly, his voice quiet. 'Everyone gives up sooner or later. Too much effort.' He lifted the hand that was nervously tapping its fingers and dragged it through his hair instead, tugging at the knots, 'I don't offer a good enough reward.'

'I think you do,' Ruki argued, his voice strong but the words sounding laughably weak, and Kyo's gaze lowered itself a fraction.

'There's too much I don't know,' he said quietly, 'And perhaps I've left it too late to learn. I have no idea how to look at people normally; I don't know how to speak to them; how to touch them.'

'It's the kind of thing you only learn if you let go with somebody,' Ruki said uncertainly, and Kyo snorted.

'“Let go”? If I let go of myself, I'd fly apart.'

'How do you know?' Ruki argued, feeling an odd rush of confidence. 'You've never tried. Maybe you could trust me to hold you together, if you did.'

Kyo eyed him.

'Big job,' he said wryly. 'You've only got small arms.'

'Don't mix metaphors,' Ruki warned, but his lips were twitching.

'I'm not mixing it; I'm extending it.'

'You're going to argue with me over grammar?' Ruki said, and Kyo shrugged, smiling down at his feet.

'Dr Kobayashi taught me how to read,' he said, a strange deliberateness to his voice, 'She left before you came. I never went to school. There's a lot I don't know.' He paused. 'I don't know how much of my file you read. How much I have left to tell you.'

'I didn't read a lot,' Ruki heard himself saying, 'But you don't have to tell me; not if you don't want to. I brought you mine just to...' he bit his lip. 'I want to be even. And I thought – I could apologise, but – I wanted to show you that I meant it. And I wanted to...'

He trailed off. _I wanted to show you that some people are willing to try and make things right_ , he'd been about to say; _I wanted to show you that you deserve to be treated exactly the same as me, that you're worth making things even with_ , but the words sounded stupid and horribly magnanimous in his head, as if he was congratulating himself, and so instead he just shrugged. 'Dr Sato slipped it to me,' he added. 'I told him...about yours. What I did.'

Kyo looked very still. 'You didn't need to do that.'

'I know.' Ruki shrugged awkwardly. 'Are you going to read it?'

Slowly, Kyo picked the file up from where it was lying next to him. He didn't open it, but simply held it in a way that suggested he was merely testing its weight in his hands; feeling its texture.

It occurred to Ruki that he almost looked nervous.

'It's all in there,' he said a little stupidly, his cheeks feeling warm, 'Everything, I mean. Everything but Eiji. Getting kicked out of school, and trying to kill myself, and Hiroshi. My... _abandonment complex_ , and my inability to put things into perspective, and all my – stupid hang-ups.'

He laughed lamely, but Kyo wasn't laughing. He reached out and touched Ruki's wrist, and unaccountably Ruki's eyes flooded with tears. He blinked rapidly, looking away, trying to clear them.

'I don't want to read this,' Kyo told him, and Ruki smiled grimly.

'So is this you rejecting my apology?' he asked, trying to keep his voice light, and Kyo shook his head seriously.

'No.'

'Well...what is it, then?'

Looking not quite at ease, Kyo leaned harder back against the piano and shrugged his shoulders.

'I suppose,' he said carefully, 'It's me saying that...if you're offering what I think you're offering, then I'd rather have that.'

'And what do you think I'm offering?' Ruki asked, annoyed at how stupidly breathless his voice sounded, and Kyo met his eye solidly.

'You said we could maybe be friends again,' he said, sounding strangely nervous. 'If that's still on the table, then I choose that.'

'What does that have to do with my file?' Ruki asked uncertainly, and Kyo eyed him as if he was insane.

' _Everything_ ,' he said. 'I don't care what some therapist thinks of you; _I_ want to get to know you. I'm not borrowing your life from somebody else. I want to learn about you as we go along.'

'Why?' Ruki asked quietly, and Kyo gave a self-conscious shrug.

'Because then the implication is that we get to go along.'

There was a slight pause.

'Let me get this straight,' Ruki said, a smile lifting at his mouth no matter how hard he tried to stop it, 'You're swapping a gross invasion of privacy for the promise of us hanging out with each other?'

'That's exactly it,' Kyo said, deadpan. 'Do we have a deal?'

'That's a pretty shitty transaction for you, you know.'

'Don't tell me how to conduct my business,' Kyo said loftily, raising an eyebrow, and Ruki grinned.

'I just feel like kind of like I'm exploiting you, that's all,' he retorted, and Kyo gave a derisive snort.

'You don't know what you're talking about. Rarity pushes up value, remember? Invasions of privacy are common. There's only one of you.'

The words seemed to take on more meaning hanging in the air like that; a little uncomfortably, Kyo rubbed at the back of his neck. When Ruki went and stood next to him, he didn't respond, but nor did he flinch or stiffen when Ruki gently bumped their hips together. Instead, Ruki thought, it was the same kind of sensation that he got sitting by him in the isolation room: that he might have been still, might not even have been looking at him, but that some part of him was opening up in Ruki's direction. Sort of plantlike, sort of rare: a flower that blooms once a lifetime.

And it was such a strange feeling, he thought, standing by somebody who was the same height as him. It made him feel adequate, for once, like he was enough; well-proportioned, as if the entire world was scaled to fit him.

 

Over the next few days, Ruki worked. He was working at a pace that he knew looked feverish on the outside but felt to him cool, smooth, like swimming very quickly through still water. The faster his hands moved the more seamlessly his mind adjusted, and he spent whole stretches of days lying on his front on the music room floor, lower lip caught between his own teeth, smudges of ink and graphite all the way up his forearms. It was cold, but he liked being cold.

Around him, the music room was rarely empty. Instead of curling up under blankets to keep warm, or sitting with their backs to the radiator in the corridor, the ward seemed to have collectively decided to huddle together for warmth, like strange birds: Die and Aoi stalky, thin, their bodies making strange shapes as they danced to the records that they put on; Uruha and Shinya hunched, almost inside of their own selves, Shinya tracing out an endlessly looping pattern on the spotless white floor and Uruha capture in a large armchair, a piece of paper in his lap; he wrote something that he constantly revised, over and over, never crossing things out but simply starting again. He blinked exactly once every six seconds. His face when Ruki studied it was thoughtful, distant; not unhappy precisely. Every so often a look would pass between Die and Aoi and one skinny white hand or another would land on his shoulder, which he accepted. Everything else, he flinched; retreated further inside himself; drew shutters over his eyes.

And there was Kyo, who read. He sat in his usual spot beneath the window, snow falling steadily over his head, and wore his way through the pile of paperback novels at his side. If Ruki added a book to the pile he would pick it up next and read it without a word, simply accepting it as a player accepts a hand of cards dealt out to them; later Ruki would find his returned books neatly stacked outside his bedroom door, their covers tenderly smoothed flat.

It seemed forbidden, or secretive, like some covert communication. He was sending signals just as clearly as he was receiving them, but he had no idea what they meant. The books in Ruki's collection were tattered and odd, scavenged from charity shops or libraries that were closing down, given away in bundles from the houses of dead people with no family; _The War of the Worlds_ , he gave him, one of a bundle of dog-eared science fiction novels printed on flimsy paper, picked up cheap because the books were being sold by the lot and not individually; _Jane Eyre_ with a cover so old the many creases were bleached white, from a shop that dealt in odd Victoriana; _Candide_ , hastily stolen from a pretentious café near campus that kept stocks of French literature to be admired but never read.

Thinking about that, he had an image of himself in his art student camouflage, all his clothing items that could have been pilfered from Eiji's own wardrobe: the jeans with holes in the knees, the shabby overcoat, the knitted cap. He saw himself swamped in those oversized clothes – _European_ clothes, chosen for their foreignness and draped over his bony Japanese frame – stuffing the book into his beaten up leather rucksack and winced. _That_ boy drank black coffee and smoked imported cigarettes; he dropped his own work in an instant to go attend to another's. He seemed a thousand miles away from the creature Ruki had become, stained and rumpled on the sanatorium floor, his whole body so unadorned that it felt light enough to float away. Around him lay maps, maps, maps, charts of lives and experiences laid out on carefully hand drawn grids; here Uruha's face with a marching regiment of endlessly opening and shutting eyes, like a stutter; here Aoi and Die as a single entity, sprouting limbs like a tree; here the lines of Kyo's body duplicated in the bars over the windows and the angles of the furniture, stunted and espaliered, a plant growing within wires. Around him, the pages of the books seemed to blur. They drifted like snow.

What Ruki loved about these second- or third- or fourth-hand books were the marks of other people; of those who had read them before him and underlined passages that meant things to them, left their indecipherable notes in the margins, inked their names on the flyleaf. 'For my darling imperialist, 1964', read a messily pencilled dedication in the front of _The Quiet American_ ; 'to the girl who always buys the flowers herself' was lovingly inscribed on the inside cover of _Mrs Dalloway_.

That might have been the secret message he was trying to communicate, he thought as he watched Kyo read through them, his dark eyes thoughtful and focussed: that there were, and are, others. The world is not nearly so small.

 

It seemed to be that Christmas was a much bigger deal on the ward than it was in the rest of the country. In Ruki's family it was mostly ignored, and Ruki was willing to bet that the same was true for most everyone else on the ward, but inside the closed world of the asylum it took on an almost magical significance: something to look forward to, something different. As a break in the routine, it felt special.

And the nurses, he thought, were trying. For a start, the visiting schedule for Christmas day was written up on the blackboard ahead of time, trying to drum up some anticipation, though Ruki was confused to see his own name on there: he hadn't thought his parents would be able to afford it, and it seemed strange that they wouldn't mention it. Had they perhaps wanted to keep it as a surprise? He was sure his mother had told him in as many words that they didn't expect to be able to get out to Kyoto again until the new year at least – although of course, she had added quickly, he might well be out by then.

The idea that they might be trying to surprise him both touched him and made him feel a little sad. It seemed unfair that such a modest plan had been foiled.

Both Die and Uruha were on the schedule too, of course, but Ruki was more than a little surprised to see both Shinya and Aoi's names written beneath theirs. There was more than a pinch of curiosity associated with that, as well as a feeling of strange foreboding: Ruki wasn't at all sure he wanted to see Aoi's reaction to his parents, or vice versa, and the idea of Shinya's parents gave him a strange feeling; they had looked so loving, so close to each other in the photograph Shinya had – so why didn't they visit more often? It seemed unlikely that they wouldn't be able to afford it; they could obviously pay to keep him here for years on end, and their appearance in the photo had been unpretentious but clearly wealthy, with tasteful clothes and nicely groomed hair. Too busy, perhaps? But that seemed altogether too heartless.

All in all, he didn't appear to be the only one who felt ill at ease with the contents of the blackboard. He'd seen Aoi standing underneath it for a good minute, a grim sort of smile on his face, and when Uruha had seen it he'd stopped in his tracks but looked away quickly, begun to mutter, counting something – counting anything, maybe, Ruki thought; counting air molecules or individual motes of dust; counting his own nervous heartbeats in the way Ruki himself did, counting the whorls of his fingerprints.

Kyo and Toshiya were the only two names missing from the visiting schedule, in the end, and they were the only people who had no reason to pause next to the board to check it. Neither of them seemed to mind – or at least made no show of minding – but Ruki had to wonder how it would feel, watching everybody else prepare to meet with their families, even if they were obviously gritting their teeth and steeling themselves to get through it. He wondered how many of them might not have been on the ward if their families had been different; whether he'd be here if Hiroshi had never been unwell, or if there was some hidden, genetic streak of instability that had caused Shinya to slip so irreversibly over the edge.

Pointless to speculate, of course. But as Aoi might have said, it passed the time.

 

Christmas morning that year dawned dull but mostly clear, only an occasional flurry of snow spiralling down from the clouds; the nurse on duty had reported, somewhat anxiously, that the roads from the sanatorium into town were open and clear, and that no delays were expected. This news didn't appear to have the impact that she'd anticipated: it was obvious from the demeanour of her patients that they expected their guests regardless of any earthquake, avalanche or apocalypse, and were waiting docilely for them to arrive.

For nobody appeared to have the will to do anything, much. They gathered untidily in the TV room, clutching various activities like props – Ruki with his sketchbook and a pencil, Uruha with one of his father's books, Aoi with his silver cigarette lighter – but forgetting what to do with them: Uruha opened his book neatly in the middle and stared down into the dark split where the pages met, Aoi flipped his lighter from one palm to another, and Ruki drew a single line and then abandoned it. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was jittery and uncomfortable, as if he had swallowed something still living.

'Nice thing about the holidays,' Aoi muttered, 'You can really see whose parents care about them enough to visit them once a year. Enough, but not _too_ much, know what I mean?'

There was an unfamiliar sound to his voice, Ruki thought. It took him a while to identify it as nervousness.

Sitting alone in an armchair – strange to see him there, Ruki thought, uncomfortably elevated from his usual huddle on the floor – Shinya frowned and examined his fingertips. They heard the sound of car tyres crunching over gravel outside, and he made a flinching sort of gesture, his eyes sharp. Only Die hopped up from his seat to cross over to the window, pressing his forehead lightly against the bars.

'Yours, I think,' he said to Aoi over his shoulder.

'How would you know?' Aoi said a little nastily, sinking down in his seat so his chin rested on his chest; Die shrugged, unperturbed.

'It's not my parents, and it's not Uruha's.'

'Could be Shinya's. Or Ruki's.'

'Yeah, but they don't look like Shinya or Ruki, you dolt, they look like _you_.'

'How fortunate for them,' Aoi muttered. He dug around in his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one up a little shakily. 'How's my mother looking? Got her hair pulled up into a tight bun? She does that to stretch out the wrinkles.'

'Dunno, they've gone inside.'

'Fuck,' Aoi said thoughtfully. He took a deep pull of his cigarette and got unevenly to his feet. 'All right, I'm fucking off to our room. I'd stay out unless you want to hear about how you could be good looking if you only got a little flesh on you and gave that _awful_ hair a cut.'

Ruki noticed that Uruha was sitting up very straight, staring at Aoi fixedly. He slipped something into his book and then shut it tight, eyeing his friend miserably as he walked from the room.

Quiet, then, for a while. Die remained hovering at the window, and though Aoi had closed the door behind him they could hear the sound of faint voices from the hallway – somebody saying something in a rather haughty sort of tone, and Aoi's terse reply – until Uruha, twitching softly, got up and turned the television on. It was only picking up snow, but nobody said anything.

'Another car,' Die announced after a while, rather unnecessarily; they'd all heard it pulling up. It had a much less smooth sound than Aoi's parents' vehicle, Ruki realised, and he felt his stomach twist anxiously.

'Whose is it?' he asked, hardly moving his lips, and Die shrugged.

'No idea. Could be yours. It's a taxi.'

He was quiet for a moment. 'Only one person,' he added then.

'Can't be mine,' Ruki said colourlessly, 'They'd both have come.'

But his heart seemed to be doing something peculiar, ticking away like a bomb and crammed up far too high in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but the feeling was like choking; he stared down at his hands. It was a good fifteen minutes or so before the door to the TV room opened, and although he didn't look around to see who it was, he felt a hot blush spreading over the back of his neck.

'Ruki,' the nurse said in her soft voice, 'Your guest is here. There are a few refreshments laid out in the dining room, if you'd like to talk in there.'

Stiffly, almost mechanically, he got to his feet. His sketchbook slipped from his lap and onto the floor; Shinya made a tense sort of noise, but Ruki didn't bend down to get it. He was stood completely still, as if frozen, his eyes very wide and fixed, and though the familiar figure stood by the nurse nodded to him, he made no bow in return.

'You,' he said at last, the word tasting sour over his tongue.

Eiji.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've moved! My life is so hectic, I'm sorry. Everything's in boxes. Gah! 
> 
> I know some of you have left comments around - thanks so much! We have no internet connection right now so I'm not really able to reply, but I just wanted you to know that I have seen them and I'm very appreciative :)


	47. Chapter 47

When he swallowed, it made a dry clicking sound inside his head. His footsteps, dull and shuffling as any invalid's, felt heavy. He could feel eyes on him, a host of different sets in varying shades of black and brown, monitoring his progress across the room and towards Eiji's familiar figure.

There was the snap of a lighter: the sound of Die lighting up a cigarette. It made Ruki itch for one. Silently, he bypassed the apologetically hovering nurse in the doorway and stuffed his hands in his pockets, making his way doggedly towards his own bedroom: fuck the dining room, fuck refreshments.

 _Fuck Eiji_ , Kyo's hoarse voice seemed to say inside his head.

He could feel the other man tailing him, uncharacteristically quiet. It occurred to Ruki that to an outsider these surroundings might feel intimidating, but the thought felt far removed and not particularly consequential: _Eiji_ had never been an outsider, how could he have been? He lived inside Ruki's very head, his wry smoker's voice the sound of intuition, speaking in whispers from Ruki's own sad skeleton.

He pushed open the bedroom door and was met with the sight of Toshiya lounging on his bed with a cigarette in his hand, flicking through a paperback novel, obviously trying to avoid the impending swarm of parents. Struggling upright, he raised his eyebrows at Ruki questioningly. By his side, Etta James crooned _I'd Rather Go Blind_ through Kai's little radio.

'Hey,' he said, the tone of his voice leading, and Ruki closed his eyes for just a little longer than a blink.

'Hi,' he said back. 'Toshiya, this is—'

'Eiji Okada,' he introduced himself smoothly, offering a shallow bow. His artfully messy hair swung into his face; he smiled his lopsided smile, half rakish and half self-conscious, showing the crooked front tooth Ruki had always thought was cute. 'I'm an old friend. I don't know if Ruki mentioned me...?'

'Nah,' Toshiya said colourlessly. 'Afraid not.'

A strangely inscrutable look on his face, he swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet. He seemed unwilling to meet Eiji's eyes; he gathered up his book and the radio and hugged them both to his chest rather harder than seemed necessary. 'I'll go bug the others,' he said.

He slid Ruki a look that he felt unable to decode, and then he was gone, closing the door discreetly behind him. Eiji raised his eyebrows.

'Your roommate?' he asked. 'He's hot.'

'I guess,' Ruki said numbly.

'Is he really crazy?'

'What are you _doing_ here?' Ruki asked, his hands squeezed into fists that felt small and ineffectual; Eiji glanced at him before sitting himself down on Ruki's bed, leaning in to examine the postcards he had affixed to the wall.

'You never answered my letters.'

'I never read your letters.'

He seemed incapable of lies; something seemed to have created a kind of bottleneck in his thoughts, so tight only the rawest truths could squeak through. _Eiji_. Eiji, right in front of him, in the flesh. That face Ruki had known so well, that he'd dwelt on and doted upon, the messy hair he'd run his hands through any number of times, those wise, cynical eyes behind the heavy-framed glasses. His ever-present black turtleneck; the ironic little twist he gave to his lips; the slight yellow stains on his fingers from where he held his cigarettes.

 _If I wanted to,_ Ruki thought nonsensically, _I could reach out and touch him. I could wrap my arms all the way around him and breathe in his smell and fill my head with his voice. I could press my face into his chest so my eyes got full of him; so I couldn't possibly see anything else._

With the strange thought that he should be offering proof, he got down on his hands and knees and pushed his hand into the gritty dust beneath his bed, groping around for the sealed envelopes containing Eiji's letters, but he couldn't seem to find them. Stubbornly, he swept his arm all the way around, but he knew in his heart that they weren't there. Tidied away, perhaps, by some nurse; or perhaps they had simply never existed.

Eiji was watching him as he acted crazy, but the thought didn't make Ruki panic the way he'd thought it would; instead, he just felt tired. He heaved himself back up and sat down on the edge of Toshiya's bed.

 

He wanted a cigarette; when Eiji offered him one he accepted, and silently the two of them lit up.

'Heard you got a hell of an offer recently, kid,' Eiji said after a moment, and Ruki blinked at him dazedly.

'Huh?'

Eiji chuckled. 'They got you on something? Doped up on something, I mean?'

'I don't...'

'You're so _out_ of it.'

Dumbly, Ruki shook his head. 'It's just weird to see you,' he said, hating how stolid his voice sounding but unable to find anything to do about it.

 _I'd Rather Go Blind_ seemed to have stuck itself in his head, its dreamily swaying rhythm matching the deadly slowness of his heart in his chest.

'Don't know why. You used to see enough of me.'

That grin again: that crooked tooth. Ruki tore his eyes away from it.

'What do you want?' he asked, trying to make his voice firmer, and Eiji shrugged.

'To congratulate you, of course.'

'On...?'

'On the _exhibition_ , kid. 'Mapping Change'? 'New Perspectives on Modernity'? Ringing any bells?'

'How do you know about that?' Ruki asked. He became aware that his hands were scratching at each other restlessly; he trapped them between his knees. Crossing one leg over the other elegantly, Eiji snorted.

'Everyone knows. There's actual _buzz_ around you, kid; you know that, right?'

'Buzz,' Ruki repeated as if it was a foreign word, and Eiji let smoke furl slowly from his lips.

'People know,' he said plainly. 'They know you're here.'

A weird feeling: something like icy water, trickling down Ruki's back and making him start to shiver.

'Wh-what?'

'Word got out. You know how it goes around the Institute, kid; people are people but gossip is gossip. That's what fuels the world we live in. It's not about talent any more, not even about who you know, any more. It's about who knows _you_.' With the fingers that were clamped around his smouldering cigarette, Eiji pointed at him. 'Nobody knows any insane artists, kid. But now they know you.'

Wordless, Ruki reached for an ashtray and gutted his cigarette. He had the weirdest feeling that he might be see through; that if he looked down at his own lap he might see the grey of the bedspread straight through it.

'Take that look off your face,' Eiji said impatiently, 'This is not a bad thing; you get that? This is the marketing strategy of the decade. This is a fucking _gold_ mine. A few years ago it wouldn't have flown, you would've just been another sad little freak – but _now_. Now people are _interested_. They're socially _conscious_ , and all that. Rich people want to prove they know about art, sure, that's always been the case, but now they want to prove that they care, too. That they're all so _open minded_. Pre-graduate work by a certified crazy person, canvases sent straight from the asylum? Kid, they'll be lining up.'

 _Gelatinous_. The word oozed into Ruki's head and sat on the top of his mind fatly, a perfect description of how he felt; something watery and rubbery and ultimately insubstantial, a beached jellyfish. He pictured how he might be able to hold up his own hand and see the veins running through his transparent flesh, how he would have left damp imprints on the paper of his half-smoked cigarette, and swallowed the nauseous saliva that started to flood his mouth.

'Kid,' Eiji said gentler, 'There's no need to be embarrassed. It's a good thing.'

When Ruki still didn't answer he sighed and got to his feet, sitting down beside Ruki instead, laying an arm over his shoulders. It was so warm and so solid that it was impossible to avoid leaning into it. The smell of his clothes was so familiar that it brought tears to Ruki's eyes, and he sniffed quickly.

'That's it, kid,' Eiji said softly, 'It's only me. Let it all out.'

'Don't call me 'kid',' Ruki managed to say, and then his shoulders sagged. It was as sudden as if he'd been shot in the back: the way his posture crumpled and the broken crack in his voice as he cried. His tears felt unusually cold on his face, like rain. The humiliation of crying in front of Eiji existed as an idea but it didn't feel very real; he was conscious mostly of how good, how _solid_ his teacher's body felt against his own; how warm and reassuring it was; how _present_. Eiji would never go transparent; would never feel like a jellyfish. He simply wasn't that kind of person.

He felt the older man lay a gentle kiss on the top of his head and shut his eyes tightly. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and noticed that his hands were trembling but were, at least, corporeal.

'Ruki.' Eiji was murmuring his name, over and over; he was stroking his back. A strong hand, muscular and lean from years of painting, took hold of his chin and angled it upward; a pair of lips pressed themselves softly all over his face, touching the tracks made by his tears.

But they felt too thin, those lips.

Not right.

 

Ruki pulled himself slowly away, sitting up straighter, and reached for the cigarette that he'd gutted. When he relit it, he felt the rush of warmth from his lighter against his face.

'Why are you really here,' he said quietly, no question in his voice. Eiji kept stroking his back but he was unforgiving now, curled over hard and shiny like the shell of a beetle.

'I miss you,' Eiji said, and Ruki snorted.

'Bullshit.'

'It's not bullshit. You want me to come out and say it then I'll come out and say it: I want you back.'

Ruki felt a terrible, almost savage urge to laugh. He bit at the skin around his thumbnail.

'It's not been the same without you,' Eiji said. 'We ended things too abruptly; I can see that now. Whatever you want to hear, kid, I'm ready to say it; I mean I _feel_ it, don't you get that? Things were better with you; the _sex_ was better, my _work_ was better, and you – _your_ life was definitely better, wasn't it? Kid, you shouldn't _be_ here. You should be back in Osaka, with me.'

'You realise that I'm not allowed to just walk out of here, right?' Ruki asked listlessly, finding it oddly comfortable to think of the logistics. 'I actually have to be released.'

'Kid, you're _not_ _crazy_. It's a mistake, that's all; putting you in here in the first place was a mistake; they'll see—'

'I tried to _kill_ myself,' Ruki said, his voice louder than he'd intended.

The words seemed to ring around the room, like an echo. He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands. There had been a thin, high note of hysteria in his voice that made him want to wince.

'I tried to kill myself,' he repeated, softer, 'Eiji, I don't know if I was insane, but I wanted to die. And I think maybe...maybe those are kind of the same thing, because I wasn't in touch with reality. If I had been I'd have seen that there were things to live for. Even just one thing would have been enough.'

He started to bite at his thumb again. There were footsteps out in the hall.

'I can give you something to live for,' Eiji said seriously, and there it was again: the mad desire to laugh, almost irresistible. What was _wrong_ with him?

Maybe if he laughed, Eiji really would believe that he was crazy.

'Think about it,' Eiji continued in the same tone of voice, 'Kid, we can _live_ together; don't you see what a story that'll be? You being so depressed, unhinged, and then getting better when you find your place with me – both of us loving each other, making art together? We can challenge everything; everything people think about relationships like ours. Kid, we can _make_ it this way, and the best part is that it doesn't have to just be a story. It can be real, too.'

'It wouldn't be real,' Ruki said stiffly, and Eiji took a gentle hold of his arms. _Warm_ ; he was so warm.

'Kid,' he breathed, 'Weren't we good together? You loved me once; you were crazy about me. You think that's been taken so far away from you that you can't ever get it back?'

'You didn't love me,' Ruki persisted, squeezing his eyes shut, and Eiji kissed him. It was on the lips this time, sensual in a way he remembered, the kind of touch that made him want to melt; when he pulled away it was only by the grimmest kind of will.

'I can love you,' Eiji whispered, drawing him close enough so that his breath ruffled Ruki's hair, 'God, kid, I can love you. Ruki, you've been so lost; I don't think you really appreciate how lost you've been.'

'I'm not,' Ruki said, but his voice sounded confused; pathetic.

'Kid,' Eiji said consolingly, the kind of warm voice that made Ruki's tense muscles soften in spite of himself, 'I know it's been an awful few months for you, but it's over now. Just say you'll come back to me, and we'll make things better together, okay? You'll be able to rest, then. I'll take care of you.'

 _Take care_. The words had a strange ring in Ruki's head: so comforting, so tempting. How long had it been since anybody had promised in as many words to do that for him?

Take care. But the image the words called up in his head wasn't of Eiji's thin, distinguished face; he couldn't even force it. When he tried, the lines turned angular and uncompromising, the brown eyes darkened; inscrutable as ever, Kyo stared at him from inside his own head.

Take care. He turned it over and over in his mind and allowed Eiji to stroke his hair.

Eiji was right, he thought: he had loved him before. He'd loved him so hard that he'd allowed it to make him crazy, and wasn't that the sort of love that every romance novel and film taught people to strive for – wasn't that meant to be the only kind of love worth having? Dizzy, and unsafe, but _grand_ ; beautiful in a way that only the very fragile and vulnerable things could be, delicate, moribund as a rainbow in a soap bubble.

He felt terribly mixed up and tired. Heavily, he forced himself to sit up.

'Eiji,' he said haltingly, 'I don't know about this. I can't...I'm sort of confused right now.'

'So let me straighten you out,' Eiji soothed, 'Let me help you. We can sort it all out in your mind; we can—'

'Eiji, no. I need to think.'

Almost devastatingly, the older man smiled at him.

'Is there really anything to think about?' he asked gently, and even though it felt like he was betraying something inside of his own self Ruki nodded.

'Give me a week,' he said weakly, 'Please. I need to get things clear. I need some time.'

Lightly, Eiji kissed him again.

'Anything for you,' he said.

A final time: that urge to laugh. The kind of laughter, Ruki thought, that would bubble over and spill, drainlike, echoey; the kind of laugh that would sound like sobbing.

 

There wasn't much else to say after that. As Ruki walked him to the door, he wondered why Eiji seemed so cheerful; he hadn't, Ruki thought, got the answer he'd been expecting. Or had he? He kissed Ruki gently on the cheek, nodded his head to the nurses, seemed so sure of himself. In the stairwell his footsteps clattered, and Ruki frowned: he was whistling.

Like a sleepwalker, he stood and watched as the nurse on duty closed and locked the stairwell door. She seemed to be quite determinedly not looking at him, as if she was refusing to pass comment on what she had just seen: that messy, handsome bohemian; that kiss, and the way his hand had found the curve of Ruki's waist as his lips had touched his cheek, touching him like a person would touch a lover – touching just to feel the shape of them. Ruki touched the back of his hand dully to his cheek to see if he was blushing, but it was the exact opposite: his face felt cold and pale, smooth as marble.

How long had Eiji been there? It hadn't felt like long, but time was warping itself just as it had used to do in the old days, an hour passing like ten minutes, a minute passing like ten days; what was the use of trying to keep up with it? Time was only a human thing; was as fallible as every other invention. Ruki had a headache. Already everything had changed; the TV room was now deserted, the chairs all arranged at offended-looking angles to one another; there was a steady hum of chatter from the dining room and the clock above the nurses' station read gone twelve; how had _that_ happened? Outside the snow was textureless and opaque as bone.

It felt as though some intrusive hand had thrust itself directly into his brain and stirred everything around. It felt stealthy, muffled, a strange violation; a quick and quiet rape of the mind. It _hurt_. Ruki dug his fingernails into the back of his neck.

He became aware that the nurse was saying something to him, but the words seemed nothing more than a series of silvery bubbles, floating up at him from deep underwater. They popped with a fishy smell.

'Huh?'

'The dining room, I said.' With an oddly clipped gesture, the nurse pointed at it with her open hand, her fingers primly together, 'Everybody has moved into the dining room. There's a buffet lunch laid out. It's time to eat something.'

'I'm not hungry,' Ruki said, but pointlessly. She gave him a smile, which she held until he obeyed her and went into the dining room. More people had arrived whilst Eiji had been talking with him, and he felt that weird disorientation again; _how_ much time had passed? It didn't seem to make sense. He eased himself through the doorway, almost sliding along the wall, and made eye contact with Toshiya where he stood rather edgily in a corner. His roommate seemed to be asking him some kind of question with his gaze; Ruki looked away.

Platters of food covered the table, and people held plates bearing dainty party portions: gyoza, onigiri, skewers of meat...the smell wasn't unpleasant but was too thick for such a small room, filled with so many people; the guests had a gasping, cramped kind of look. Looking around the room, Ruki thought, you might have been able to guess everything about these people: there was Die sat between his parents, bashful under his mother's doting gaze and her inability to get enough of the sight of him, the sense that she was drinking him in; there was Aoi standing at a remove, the shape of his body spiky as barbed wire, his parents just as singular and the three of them bearing matching expressions of irritation; there was Uruha tapping hard at the cover of the book he held in his lap, an unfocussed look on his face as his father flitted around him and his mother sat up straight, ignoring the food, holding her handbag on her lap in a way that suggested she was about to stand up and leave. She had her hand positioned in a way that made sure the jewels in her bracelet caught the light, and she looked down at them contemplatively.

Watching them all, Ruki felt a faint sort of helplessness; a kind of lethargy that oozed through his veins. He dropped heavily into a chair and poured himself a glass of water that tasted like metal.

 

The afternoon felt, above all, stupid. Like the clock, like the way the sun seemed to be sliding up and down above the line of the horizon, it didn't seem to make sense: all the children locked up inside their own heads, and these parents – drinking tea, and eating party foods. Discussing what time babies' eyes changed colour and clucking over the riots in Okinawa. What was the point? Next to their parents, Ruki thought, the patients looked as distinct and noticeable as sprinkles of salt in a pepper pot, as if they had been marked in some cryptic, cultish way. The room smelled of food and bodies. Outside the window, the sky was hard and bright.

'This is for you,' Ruki caught Uruha's voice saying suddenly, very quiet and almost furred with discomfort; he glanced up to catch him pressing his book twitchily into Die's father's hands. He wasn't alone in his confusion; Mr Andou looked equally unsure, and over Uruha's shoulder, his own father was frowning slightly.

'Well, thank you,' Die's father said uncertainly, smoothing over the cover; it had been tattooed by a series of crescents, the insistent indents of Uruha's fingernails, ' _The Local's Guide to The Netherlands_. I'm sure this will come in very—'

'Read it,' Uruha mumbled intensely, biting hard on his knuckle.

Die's father looked at him quietly for a moment, and then opened the book. It seemed to naturally fall open halfway through, as though it had been held that way for too long or as if there was a bookmark inside it, but Mr Andou angled the book subtly upwards so that Ruki couldn't see.

What he did catch, though, was a peculiar look passing between Die and Aoi; a sort of wonderment mixed with alarm, and Aoi began chewing on a lock of his own hair, scowling at his mother when she tried to pull it out of his mouth. With bared teeth he was almost like an animal, and Ruki wondered if his parents regretted it, what they had done – if they could sense all the things inside their son that had been contorted, changed forever.

Mr Andou excused himself quietly, still holding Uruha's gift, and Die's mother took her son's hand in both of her own.

'I'll get you another copy,' Uruha's father said softly, lying his hand on his son's hunched shoulder, 'Don't worry.'

Faintly, almost too faint to be heard, Uruha said: 'Thank you, Dad.'

Oddly enough, with the book now gone from his lap, he seemed to be there at last; he had returned from whatever strange place that book had taken him to. _The Netherlands, maybe_ , Ruki thought before he could stop himself, and frowned at his own bitterness.

Uruha seemed neither happy nor unhappy to be there, a curled-in figure, huddled and thoughtful. Silently, he reached up and laid his own hand on top of his father's; allowed his fingers to be squeezed and held.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Guys, I still don't have internet, this was so hard to post. Gah! 
> 
> Again, I'm really grateful to all of you who are leaving me such kind comments - thank you! I'm so sorry I don't have the ability to reply at the moment. Online time is so rationed!


	48. Chapter 48

Shapelessly, the afternoon wore on.

Ruki wondered why anybody was even bothering.

It wasn't like anybody at the table was even having a good time, he thought; even Die's normally good-natured parents had a pinched, strained look about them, and their son was no better; the sight of the buffet laid out seemed to have made him feel nervous and ill-at-ease, as if he wasn't sure what was expecting of him, and he sat in a way that made him appear shrunken and unwell. On his other side, Aoi's parents carried on a conversation almost in whispers, their voices buzzing incomprehensibly, like wasps. Aoi wasn't saying anything, but his cheeks were covered in red fingermarks where he had gripped and pulled at them, and he kept closing his eyes. He hummed a Buddy Holly song continuously, but in such a grim way that _That'll Be The Da_ y had no bounce at all; it simply circled flatly back around to its beginning, broken and sad, like a record that was wearing out its grooves.

His eyes weren't on his parents, but on Uruha.

Ruki didn't know quite what to make of _him_.

It was clear that he was nervous; he bit at his nails compulsively no matter how many times his mother attempted to knock his hands away from his mouth, and his breathing had taken on a soft, high note that made him sound as though there was something just barely contained inside of him. He was counting, Ruki noticed, not really saying the numbers aloud or even whispering them but letting his lips twitch into their shapes; what he was counting was a mystery. It made loops: one to twelve and back again, one to twelve and back again, one to twelve...

Time seemed to be moving backwards, and Ruki twisted his fingers together anxiously. How could you eat when time ran the wrong way? What sense did that make? What reason could there be for anything if you ate just to find yourself hungry again, or brushed your teeth to find your mouth stale again, or slept to wake up just as exhausted? What was the point of getting over somebody when they could wander so easily back into your life; pick up your hand as though they never left; was it really that _easy_?

From across the table Toshiya kept shooting him strange little looks, rocking back in his chair, but Ruki let them flick dazedly past him.

 _He came,_ his mind kept chanting at him, _he came, he really came, he wants to be with you, he came, he wants you back, he came, he really came_.

And another voice, layered somewhere beneath that: _but why did he have to come?_

_I didn't need him here._

_I didn't even want to see him._

But that voice was a lot quieter.

 

At around two, tea was poured. Shinya averted his face from it violently, as if it was poison. Uruha sipped at it like a bird. Nobody seemed to have much of an appetite. Kyo had been herded in and instructed rather tersely to eat something, as this was the only lunch that would be served – the nurses appeared a little harried and flustered by the amount of people milling around – but Ruki found it hard to look at him. Already Eiji's appearance seemed like a strange dream, hazy and insubstantial; in comparison Kyo felt almost achingly real, sharp as cold air; too clear, distinct, pure as boiled water. His hands were as angular as something put together by bolts and screws: his face could have been carved from stone. He sat by Ruki, but that might have been only because there were no other chairs available. He didn't say anything.

Aoi lit up a cigarette and puffed on it and hummed, and Ruki supplied the words in his head: _you say you're gonna leave, you know it's a lie, 'cause that'll be day when I die..._

Uruha tapped on the sides of his neck and shook his head fretfully. Aoi watched him, his face softer than it generally looked. Die held his teacup tightly, as if afraid it might slip out of his hands.

Nothing was wrong, so why did the three of them all look so worried – why did they all look so much as though they were waiting for something? It was as though they were sending out a signal, a kind of siren in a strange frequency that only they could hear but that everyone else could feel: Aoi's parents with their buzzing whispers, Die's parents with their strained faces, Shinya troubled and rubbing his ears over and over, the way Ruki thought he might do when he was hearing things.

Looking at them that way, they were almost ugly. Shinya seemed huddled and somehow furtive, Aoi too brash, Uruha too jittery and Die a bright skeleton, his frame almost brutal in its rawness and savagely exposed – bone, muscle, fibre, sinew; ligaments working out in the open, veins running along the surface, like an anatomical model: a beautiful, ugly human. Even in the cramped room, the three of them seemed so far apart, dying all over again. Die, Aoi, Uruha. Starving, burning, drowning. The alarm bell ringing in all three of their heads, making them stagger away from each other in confusion; Die smiling at Uruha in an odd, sad sort of way; Aoi's hand twitching as though he wanted to reach out. All three of them seemed almost paralysed under the eyes of their parents.

Sighing, Ruki shifted in his chair. It didn't help: whatever was making him uncomfortable, that sharp thing that kept hurting him, it seemed to be on the inside. Outside a set of tyres crunched over the gravel drive and he heard a car door slam: Shinya's parents, he supposed. He tried to find the pinch of curiosity he had felt about them at one point, those nice-looking people in the photograph who never, ever visited, but it was gone.

Aoi leant forward on his elbows, away from his parents, propping his chin in his hands.

'Think anybody likes being here?' he asked, his voice so low it wasn't really clear who he was talking to. Die shot him a troubled look. There was the sound of footsteps in the stairwell now; the clatter of the door being unlocked.

Ruki saw two things happen; Die's mother reached out and squeezed her son's elbow, and a single tear fell from Uruha's eye onto his cheek. Unconsciously, Ruki reached out and gripped the edge of the table.

He thought if Eiji had asked him then, he would have said yes. He would have gone anywhere to get out of this room and away from the people in it; from whatever mountain-sized truth seemed to exist around them, too big for him to wrap his mind around all at once. He heard Aoi light up a cigarette.

 _Why are they sitting so far apart_? he thought helplessly, and the door to the dining room opened behind him. He heard the rustle of starched clothing as a nurse stepped through, her head lowered respectfully, and then a different kind of sound – still a rustling but a stiffer one, almost creaky, and he turned awkwardly in his chair to see two police officers in their blue uniforms step into the dining room. It was a tight fit; there was some strange shuffling, everyone silent as they watched the officers try to find space for their feet.

Uruha sniffed, wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and then scrubbed at his own tear-stained skin hard with the fabric of his T-shirt, as if he could obliterate it. As if his tears were made of something filthy.

'Mr Takashima?' one of the officers said.

But it was obvious that it wasn't Uruha they were talking to.

 

The dining room was a strange tableau. For what felt like forever, the only thing that moved was the occasional flurry of snow, spiralling delicately past the slightly foggy windowpane; that, and the smoke rising slowly from Aoi's cigarette. When Ruki chanced a glance at him, moving only his eyes, he found the dark-haired man with his gaze lowered, staring straight down at the table he was leaning on. When Ruki searched further, tipping his head up an inch, he found everybody else in similar states: Shinya with his hands covering his eyes, Die looking down at his lap, Kyo with his head turned away and Uruha with his eyes lightly closed, the lids trembling, tears sliding slowly but steadily from beneath them.

'Mr Takashima?' the police officer said again. They were a man and a woman, and it was the woman who spoke this time, her voice clipped and pleasant as a nurse's but no less serious.

Ruki wondered why neither of them stepped forward, but kept on lingering awkwardly in the doorway, where there was no room. Like uninvited guests, they hovered, and as stern as their faces were there was a question in their eyes: _exactly what have we walked into, here?_

 _What_ is _this?_

'I'm Mr Takashima,' Uruha's father said calmly. 'And this is my son; also Mr Takashima.'

Ruki watched the tear drop from Uruha's chin and into his lap.

'May we speak with you?' the male officer this time. 'Just yourself at this point, though we'll have questions for your son later.'

'I don't understand what this is about,' Uruha's father said politely, but nobody could have missed it: the way he touched his son's shoulder to try and still the way he was beginning to rock in his chair, pressing his spine into it as if it could have saved him.

'Just a few questions, Mr Takashima.'

'Is this routine?'

His tone was so polite as to seem deadly; the officers exchanged quick glances.

'If you will come with us, Mr Takashima, we can give you more information at the station in Kyoto.'

'Ah.' His hand tightened on Uruha's shoulder, 'But as you can see, I am visiting my son today. He is very unwell.'

Ruki found his eyes attracted by Mrs Takashima, sitting slightly apart from her husband and her son. She didn't appear to be breathing; her head was held in a rigid, birdlike way that made the cords of her neck stand out against her necklace. With her body tensed, her jewellery looked oppressively tight.

'Yes,' the male police officer said a little helplessly, 'We can see that. But even so, Mr Takashima...'

'My son's condition,' Uruha's father continued steadily, 'Is very unstable. And he has a lot of difficulty differentiating between reality and fiction. I really would prefer to avoid confusing him. You see, he has expected me to visit for a certain length of time today, and—'

'Mr Takashima,' the woman officer interrupted, 'I'm afraid we must insist.'

Uruha's mother's lips looked as though they had been sewn together. Slowly, she knotted her fingers together in her lap, as though she was praying.

'I do have rights,' his father was saying patiently. 'And unless you are _arresting_ me...'

There was a small pause.

'You are being arrested, Mr Takashima,' the female officer said plainly. 'Please, if you could co-operate. We do not want to upset these young men or their families.'

Very lightly, Mrs Takashima pressed the tips of three fingers to her forehead, as if she had a headache.

'This is preposterous,' Mr Takashima said, and though his voice was perfectly level there was a hint of something in it – maybe just a high, nervous breath behind it – that belied its flat calm.

Anxiously, Ruki looked up and met Aoi's eyes; his face was strained, and he was holding his cigarette too tight between his fingers; he shot Ruki a look that he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of.

'Preposterous,' Uruha's father was still saying a little breathlessly, 'Completely absurd, I—'

'Mr Takashima, if you just—'

'Absolutely ridiculous. I don't know what kind of tale you've heard, but I won't be going anywhere until I can—'

'Mr Takashima, if you do not—'

'Go with them, dad.'

Uruha's voice should have been too quiet to interrupt anybody, but everyone fell silent. Uruha's father gave a soft flinch, his face contorting briefly; it was uncanny how much it made him look like his son.

'Uruha,' he said quietly, and another tear slid down Uruha's cheek.

'You have to go with them,' he repeated, his voice soft. 'I'm sorry.'

Soberly, father and son looked at each other. Mr Takashima swallowed. His face was a peculiar colour, Ruki thought; almost grey.

'This was you?' he asked, a wheeze audible over his words, and Uruha closed his eyes tightly as he gave a small, jerky nod.

'I'm sorry, dad.'

'But you're not _well_ , Uruha. You don't know what's happening; you don't – this is a _mistake_ , a silly mistake—'

'No,' Uruha said quietly. Carefully, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and used it to wipe the one fearful tear that had beaded at the corner of his father's eye, 'No.'

'Uruha. Listen to me. What did you tell them?'

His one word answer was almost silent, but clear: 'Everything.'

Ruki felt a sudden desire to throw up, and swallowed against it. His mouth flooded with sour tasting saliva, and he gripped his own hands together tightly.

'I don't understand, Uruha. I don't understand at all. Haven't your mother and I always given you everything? Haven't we – haven't we— how could you _do_ this to us? Make up _lies_ like this?'

It wasn't his television voice, Ruki thought distantly; it was gaspy and full of holes, like something being torn apart, a split lung, full of rot, full of softly disintegrating tissue, pulpy and thin. He gulped dryly, his eyes rolled; where his son had dried his tear he gripped at his hand, and Uruha tensed his shoulders and looked uncomfortable but allowed it.

'I'm sorry, dad,' he whispered, 'But you hurt my friends.'

'I hurt your— for god's sake, Uruha, these people are not your _friends_! They're _sick_ , don't you see that? They're _mad_!'

'Mr Takashima,' Die's father said, 'Control yourself.'

'They're _sick_ , Uruha; they're all sick in the head and they're trying to poison you against me, can't you understand? I'm the one who loves you; your mother and I, we're the only ones—'

'I love him,' Die interrupted simply. Uruha's father looked up at him, his mouth working silently, and Die shrugged.

'I love him, too,' Aoi said.

Aoi's father performed a sort of convulsive motion with his hands, as if he itched to reach out and slap his son – or else choke the words out of his throat. Ruki looked quickly down at his lap.

'We all love him,' Die said.

'Even though he can be a real pain in the ass sometimes,' Aoi added.

'You hurt my friends,' Uruha repeated in a whisper.

'Uruha,' his father said, barely contained, 'There will be a trial. You will have to speak in front of a lot of people who will know you're lying, and if they believe you, they'll put me – they'll put me in prison.'

It was funny then; the strange little smile that came over Uruha's face. It wasn't happy; wasn't triumphant or mocking or any of those things; it was just gentle, and a little sad, and with one of his painfully bitten hands he touched his father's cheek.

'It's all right,' he said. 'Because – because remember when you took me here, and you said that I'd be fine, because I'd be around people who were like me?' He tried to widen his smile, reassuringly, but failed. 'That's – that's you now, dad. You don't have to worry. It'll be people like you.'

Uruha's father raised his hand and hit his son hard across the face. One of the police officers made a threatening movement forwards, but nobody else moved; even Aoi seemed frozen in his seat.

Carefully, Uruha touched his cheek. A smeary red hand print began to burn against his skin and he placed his own fingers over it, as if he was sizing up their different hands to check the fit.

His voice broke a little when he spoke: 'You can relax now, daddy.'

Nobody moved, or said anything, for a long moment. But before Uruha's mother fainted – slumping in an oddly vertical way, her stiff clothing doing something to hold her up – and the nurses started shepherding people out of the room and flinging open windows, and Ruki found himself borne along on a drift of people in the corridors that led him back to his own bedroom, and the officers clicked some handcuffs around Mr Takashima's wrists and led him, unprotesting now, down to their police car – before all that, Ruki joined everybody else in watching as Uruha pressed his forehead lovingly against his father's; cried with him; comforted him. They listened as he told him that it would be okay.

 

Later that evening, it began to snow again. Quietly, Toshiya and Ruki sat on their beds and watched it; there wasn't a great deal to say. A great, yawning tiredness seemed to have descended over everything, like an enchantment, and to Ruki it felt oddly like finding the beginning of a circle: tired, again. Dull, again. Everything underwater. Time the wrong way. A whole wide river, flowing upstream.

A view of his own feet as they carried him down the street, and a fleeting memory of the smell of catastrophe being in the air: soot and smoke and oily orange fire at Ten-Roku station. He saw it now even though he hadn't then: loose ash in the air, ambulances in the street. And Eiji, and school, and the bathtub full almost to the brim, the way the water had reddened his skin.

Tired again. Ready to check out again. Time to stop, and admit defeat, and quit.

'What do you think is gonna happen?' Toshiya said finally, and Ruki shrugged.

'Dunno.'

'Have a good time with your visitor today?'

Toshiya didn't seem to be expecting an answer to that one. Pensively, he lit up a cigarette and went back to staring out of the window. In the dark, the falling didn't look white; it was black, as though pieces of the sky were flaking away and falling to the earth.

'They think they'll win,' Ruki said quietly, his voice sounding hoarse in his own ears, 'But they won't.'

Toshiya didn't look around at him, but his neck seemed a little stiffer, and Ruki knew that he'd heard.

'They who?' he said finally, tiredly, and Ruki smiled sadly.

'Aoi. Die. Uruha. They won't get away with it.'

'Are you serious?' Toshiya said softly, and Ruki shrugged.

'Nothing ever changes.'

'Things change all the time,' Toshiya said.

He didn't sound sure, though, and when he looked over his shoulder at Ruki the smiles they exchanged were weak.

'You okay?' Toshiya asked carefully, and Ruki shrugged jerkily.

'Sure.'

'Right.' Toshiya's smile grew a little more natural, 'You're a shitty liar, you know.'

'Noted,' Ruki said moodily, and Toshiya rolled his eyes. Stubbing out his cigarette, he got untidily to his feet – it crossed Ruki's mind, not for the first time, that just because Toshiya had long arms and legs it didn't necessarily mean that he knew how to control them – and sat himself down on Ruki's bed instead, making the mattress tilt and sway.

'What are you—?'

His question got swallowed up by those long arms when Toshiya hugged onto him, big hands pulling him close. Ruki wriggled at once, outraged, but heard Toshiya snort softly next to his ear.

'Stop being such a baby,' he said gently, and Ruki slowly let his body relax. He could feel the thud of Toshiya's heartbeat, slow and steady; it was comforting. He wondered if Toshiya thought about it much when he shot up – the way each beat of his heart would push the drug around his body; the way it would muddy and foul up his blood.

'I'm not being a baby,' he mumbled.

'Yeah, yeah. Want to talk about it?'

'Absolutely not.'

'That's okay.'

Ruki felt Toshiya preparing to pull away, and his fingers did something strange – betrayed him by clutching tightly at his clothing, pulling him closer. He butted his head down, burrowing it deeper into the comforting darkness of Toshiya's chest; he smelled nice, like cigarette smoke and clean clothes. It wasn't the _right_ smell, in the same way that his body somehow wasn't the right shape, but it was comforting and close and warm. Ruki closed his eyes.

'Think it's selfish that the only person I can think about right now is myself?' he mumbled, and felt Toshiya smile against the top of his head.

'Yeah. You're a horrible bastard.'

Against Toshiya's front, Ruki snorted a little. The sound came out small and choked, though, so much like a sob that there might not have been any practical difference, and he felt his shoulders shudder as he breathed raggedly against his roommate's chest. Faintly, as if from a great remove, he felt Toshiya stroke his back.

This was all he had wanted, he had thought: just darkness. Just quiet. Oblivion.

Had that really been so crazy?

He wondered if Toshiya had ever considered it, sticking a needle into himself: the chance, every time, that it might kill him. He wondered how much time his roommate had spent turning over the decision: passing it back and forth between his hands, flipping it like a coin; was it, or was it not, worth it?

Toshiya's hand slid clumsily up into his hair, and he thought of Eiji.

And he thought of Kyo, sitting across the table from him, his gaze fixed at the window. Just his face, almost in profile. The smoke rising from Aoi's cigarette.

The clearest image in his head was of the bright red hand print on Uruha's pale cheek.

 

 


	49. Chapter 49

The air was cold and tasted awful, damp and ferrous, metallic as blood. The sky was the mottled grey of diseased skin, purplish like Kai's dead mouth, but Ruki fixed his eyes on it anyway. He took in a deep lungful of breath.

It was not a good day to be outside - the snow had stopped but the weather was cold and blustery, full of a kind of crystalline moisture that stung at Ruki’s exposed face and hands - but anything, he thought, was better than the cracked and yellowing, slowly staling air inside the asylum; anything was better than the feverish humidity of people growing miserable and ill behind closed doors and windows.

Next to him, Kyo stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his donated winter coat. The wind snatched at his scarf, trying to pull it loose, and without thinking much about it Ruki stepped forward and tucked the edges more firmly into his collar.

He noticed Kyo regarding him gravely, and stepped back and lit a cigarette. The wind was so vicious, working in short little jabs like a boxer, that he had to construct a weather break with his own hunched-over body. He was annoyed at how broken the posture made him look.

By the time he straightened up, Kyo wasn’t looking at him any more; his gaze was fixed on the pale view of hills in the middle distance. His eyes looked very dark in his face, as if they ran deeper down than most other people’s; his mouth was set in a straight line that brought out the angularity of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips.

He was, Ruki realised with a faint surprise, an attractive person. He wondered how he could have missed it - it could have been simply that he’d never judged him as a whole before; had always taken parts of him away for some private study: the tendons in his arms, the knuckles on his fingers, the groove that ran between his nose and upper lip.

It was an unwelcome realisation, because it felt confusing. Sucking hard on his cigarette, Ruki started trampling through the snow. The more he walked, the more the top part of his body started to feel divorced from the lower half; the snow was seeping into his boots as ice water and chilling him whilst he sweated inside his jacket, the heat rising muggily from his sleeves and neck. He slipped, and went down more out of surprise than anything, landing heavily on his knees and hands and snapping his cigarette cleanly in half.

'Damn it,' he said, but the words came out dully and fell just as he did, in a series of thunks, into the snow. A hand appeared in front of his face as if from the heavens; silently he took it, and allowed Kyo to pull him to his feet.

The fact that the other man could be so composed irritated him; it irritated him so much he had to fight back the urge to shove him over and see how he liked it, foundering stupidly in the snow. Why was he always like this; always the one stuck as the stupid, clumsy, naive kid; always the one getting into trouble, needing help, needing to be taken care of?

His hands tightened into fists.

'Eiji wants me back,' he said savagely. 'He came to ask me.'

Annoyingly, Kyo didn’t look at him; he just nodded, his eyes fixed on the line of trees in the distance, and there was that _urge_ again, that fierce urge to punch or kick or even just scream at him, sudden and strong as the urge to vomit.

'He wants us to be together properly,' he added, his voice almost a hiss, 'So we can tell people, and live together. He wants us to be a proper couple.'

He paused, but the lack of response was maddening: ‘He said he loves me,’ he added viciously.

A tiny voice in the back of his head seemed to be pleading that it wasn’t really a lie, not entirely. What had Eiji said - that he _could_ love him. That it was, at least, possible.

'Do you love him?' Kyo asked, and Ruki drew up short.

'Yes,' he said abruptly, almost rudely.

‘Oh.’

Kyo performed a weird sort of movement, halfway between a shrug and nod, and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.

Then: ‘How do you know?’ he asked. Ruki blinked at him, and shivered. It really was too cold to be out.  

‘You just know,’ he said stiffly.

‘You haven’t seen him in months.’

‘But I _know_ ,’ Ruki said, an edge in his voice from where he was gritting his teeth together. ‘You wouldn’t understand. It feels different. Being around him just felt like...it felt like…’

Uncertainly, he trailed off. A bird flew by, some kind of bird of prey riding the current of the wind, and politely both Ruki and Kyo followed its progress through the sky with their eyes.

‘It felt like coming home,’ Ruki said finally. ‘It felt like... _The Wizard of Oz_. Like I could get back to where I started.’

Kyo smiled a little faintly at that.

‘I never understood why Dorothy wanted to go back,’ he said. ‘Back to black and white Kansas, when she could have stayed in Oz.’

‘This isn’t Oz,’ Ruki said a little aggressively, kicking out at a clump of icy snow, and Kyo looked down.

‘No, it’s not,’ he agreed.

Ruki shuddered hard in the wind, and wrapped his arms around his body. He felt, strangely, as though it might have been the only thing keeping him together; as though if he let go even for a moment, his body might simply fly apart, scraps of him trailing on the wind and catching, whisking up higher and higher until they were nothing.

‘Let’s keep walking,’ he said through chattering teeth, and Kyo gave one single stiff nod and began to climb with him.

  
  


By the time they got back, the sky had grown gloomy enough to make it look like night was falling early; compared to the bruised colour of the clouds outside, the lights inside the sanatorium looked poisonously yellow and oddly thick, as though each individual circle of light was a cloud of some toxic gas. The door locked neatly behind them, and Ruki let his coat drop from his shoulders with a thump.

The corridors felt eerily deserted, as did the music room and the television room; the latter was haunted only by Shinya, who lay around like a drugged ghost in his chair - still under, then, from when his parents had visited earlier. They’d come later than planned, perhaps frantically put off by the nurses after what had transpired with Uruha’s father; as soon as he’d seen them, though, Shinya had started screaming so loudly that Ruki heard the break in his voice as his throat tore itself to pieces. His accusations had been nonsensical, rambling but ever-heightening, and a silver hypodermic had flashed into his arm, and the nurses had laid him out in a chair - the same chair he sat propped in now.

Once he’d been out, Ruki had watched as his parents sat close around him. He’d watched as Shinya’s mother, so pretty and so like him, had reached forward and gently stroked each of his cheeks, one after the other. He’d seen her as she arranged his hands to lie in a more natural-looking position in his lap, her own fingers gentle against the fragile whiteness of his skin.

Now he sat so still he could have been sleeping, except his eyes were open. They blinked at regular intervals, as though he was running on a timer.

Ruki glanced over at Kyo uneasily and found the other man already looking at him, his face solemn.

In a strange moment of certainty, Ruki knew that they were both thinking the same thing: that it was too quiet.

‘Something’s happening,’ Ruki said, and Kyo gave a flinchlike nod.

‘Yes.’

They didn’t have to wait too long to find out what. As the two of them advanced cautiously down the hallway, the door to Aoi and Die’s room suddenly slammed open, its two occupants erupting into the corridor like some force of nature; Aoi in front, his head down, walking very quickly; Die only inches behind and grabbing desperately at his elbow, ‘Aoi. _Aoi_!’

‘Leave me _alone_ , Die.’

‘But Aoi - listen – I—’

‘Don’t you have _packing_ to do?’ Aoi interrupted. His tone was acidic, his voice attempting to be calm but shaking unsteadily. Ruki felt his stomach drop.

Irresistibly, his eyes dragged themselves towards the door of what had been Uruha’s bedroom. After a lot of tentative knocking, Aoi had opened it two days ago to find it stripped completely clean, its sole inhabitant gone.

Now, Ruki thought, there would be a very thin layer of dust over everything: the shelves that had once held his father’s books; the metal bed frame where his mattress had once been; the low table beneath the window, beside his bed. The dust would feel fine, gritty beneath the fingertips; when the warm weather hit and sunlight heated the room, it would give off a baked smell, friendly and old. The orderlies would scrub and scour but they would never get all of it. And what _was_ that dust, anyway? Tiny fragments that came off their skin and hair and clothes; the last microscopic remnants of Uruha, a relic.

‘This is not my fault,’ Die said hotly, ‘Aoi, we both knew this would happen. After my parents read what Uruha wrote…’

‘Just go,’ Aoi said wildly, ‘ _Go_ , then. If there’s nothing you can do about it, you know, if your hands are completely _tied_ , just get _out_.’

‘They never would have kept me here! _Nobody’s_ parents would!’

‘Mine would,’ Aoi said from between clenched teeth, and Die faltered.

‘You should want this,’ he said softly. ‘You should want this for all of us. Getting out of here.’

Aoi didn’t say anything to that; he simply shot Die a filthy look, wrenched his arm free from his grip and slammed into the bathroom. Die didn’t follow him, which Ruki considered sensible at that point. It felt suddenly very quiet again in the corridor; standing alone, Die seemed to deflate. He let out a long, low sigh.

‘You’re leaving?’ Ruki asked quietly, and Die bristled.

‘What, are you going to have a go at me too?’

‘No, I…’

Die shook his head slowly. Closer up, Ruki saw that his eyes were glistening, and the skin around them was pink, but it felt kinder to pretend not to notice.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his voice dry and empty sounding. ‘It’s just...I don’t have a choice. My parents know everything now, so…’

‘Aren’t there procedures?’ Ruki heard himself asking; a strange hollowness seemed to have been carved into his chest, ‘Don’t you have to be formally released, or...something?’

Die shook his head, his dyed hair trailing over his bony shoulders dismally, ‘Normally, yeah, but they’re hardly going to make a fuss now. All they need to do is write up some paperwork saying that in their medical opinion, I’m not fit for release yet - then they’re covered in case I go mental and start trying to carve people up; or, you know...if I die.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘They’re not in a position to say no. If they did, it’d go to court, and the sanatorium won’t win. Not with everything that’s happened.’ He sniffed. ‘Helps, of course, that I don’t come across totally insane. If you’re really crazy, you’d have no luck convincing a jury that you deserve to be treated carefully…’

He looked off in the direction Aoi had gone miserably.

‘It won’t just be you,’ a hoarse voice said, and Die gave a start; it appeared he’d forgotten Kyo was there. He glanced at him warily.

‘What do you mean?’

Kyo gave a rough shrug. ‘They’re going to close this place down, I think.’

‘How’d you figure that?’

‘Uruha’s dad was a big contributor, and I don’t think the sanatorium can run without his money.’

‘But they’ll get new investors,’ Die said, looking oddly perturbed, and Ruki bit his lip.

‘I don’t think they will,’ he said gently, shooting a quick look at Kyo, ‘It’ll be - I mean, Uruha’s dad is famous. It’ll be...a scandal, I guess.’

‘Right. And the sanatorium is right in the middle of it,’ Die said slowly.

‘Right.’

‘But they can’t let everyone out. I mean…!’ he flung a hand haphazardly in the direction of the television room, ‘What’s Shinya going to do if they release him? He can’t live with his _parents_ , they—’

‘He won’t be released,’ Kyo interrupted carefully. ‘Not everyone will.’

‘So what happens?’

Ruki glanced back at Kyo, interested in the answer. Looking a little tired, Kyo gave a one-shouldered shrug.

‘Some people will be sent home. Everyone else will get sent to other hospitals.’

Strangely, Ruki had to suppress a shiver at that. He met Die’s eye and knew instantly that he felt it too: the divide that had suddenly opened up, a cold little gulf separating Kyo from them. Because _they_ would be going home, of course. But Kyo…

Die glanced nervously back towards the TV room. It was dim in there, but from their distance it was just about possible to make out one of Shinya’s lily-white wrists, lying innocently upturned on the arm of his chair.

‘They’ll let Aoi go,’ Die said definitely, though his expression was troubled. ‘Shinya they won’t. Ruki, you’ll be let out. Toshiya…’

‘He’ll have to finish his sentence somewhere else.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ Die said, frowning, ‘He’s fine now.’

‘No, he isn’t,’ Kyo said blankly, ‘He’s been taking Shinya’s medicine.’

There was a beat of silence.

‘He _what_?’

Kyo’s flat gaze met each of their scandalised ones in turn. ‘They give Shinya thioproperazine. He doesn’t like taking it; he doesn’t trust it. It’s an antipsychotic, but it works as a tranquillizer and a sedative, too. Shinya gives it to him because Toshiya’s been saying he’s a spy for Shinya’s side.’

There was a quick flash of something over his face - anger, perhaps, or even disgust - and then his features slipped back into neutrality. He seemed tireder than ever.

‘No way,’ Ruki said woodenly, ‘You’re making it up.’

Kyo looked at him plainly.

‘You’ve misunderstood,’ Ruki amended. ‘He can’t be doing that; he wouldn’t. Anyway - he’s my roommate. I’d have noticed.’

As he said it, though, he felt a strange sensation; a little itch of doubt: would he have noticed? It was like some kind of small creature, he thought vacantly; worry, doubt, uncertainty; right now it bit at his ankles but left unchecked, he knew, it would start clawing its way up his leg and try to clamber into his lap. _Would_ he have noticed?

 _Stamp on it_ , his thought ran loosely, _stamp on the doubt, before it comes to that. Crush it. Grind your heel down on its head before it can breed—_

The look Kyo was giving him was indecipherable: was it anger, or pity? Both?

‘You wouldn’t notice,’ he said flatly. ‘Sometimes you can be so far inside your own head, you haven’t got a clue what goes on outside. And you don’t care.’

Numbly, Ruki stood back to let him by. Both he and Die watched his retreating back, lost for words, and at last Die peeled off and shut himself sadly back in his own room, and Ruki was left alone.

  
  


It was a struggle to get to sleep that night. The wind outside rattled the windows in their panes, and the building seemed to creak, and Ruki lay very still on his side with the sheets tangled around his waist, staring dry-eyed out across the narrow room at Toshiya, sleeping peacefully on his back. One of his long white arms was thrown up over his head; the other was hugged tight to his body, the fingers sprawled out over what Ruki had never understood: his wayward, complicated heart.

It was cold, but Ruki wanted to be cold. It was cold, but even in the scant and unreliable moonlight that came in through the window, Toshiya’s pale forehead was pearlescent with sweat.

As if in an awful dream, he remembered that same face with darkly shadowed eyes and lips chapped white, opening and shutting desperately: _you’re mental, they must give you drugs...do you have any you haven’t taken? Anything at all?_

In his sleep, Toshiya made a soft groaning sound and rolled over. His fingers twitched.

Maybe Kyo was lying.

But Ruki knew he wasn’t. Not only because everything was so _clear_ looking back on it - how frequently Shinya seemed to have his episodes these days; how quietly and easily Toshiya had allowed himself to fade into the background hum of the sanatorium - but because of the simple fact that Kyo had not lied to him yet, and Ruki trusted him.

Lying on his slippery mattress, he shivered. The tiny hairs on his arms were standing up, but he didn’t feel like pulling the sheets up over him: there was a strange kind of burning inside of him, something like guilt or shame, the flames licking at the back of his throat and crackling deep in his chest.

In a few short days, it would be 1971, and everything would change but also _nothing_ would change: he saw that now. Shinya would alternately kick and scream, sit and drool his way through the days at another hospital, layout different but smells the same; Aoi would go home to get picked over by his parents instead of the nurses; Die would throw up into a different toilet, rest his forehead against the expensive but tasteful tiles of his own bathroom floor. Uruha had already gone, but were they supposed to believe he wasn’t compulsively counting his breaths, marking his heartbeat with fraught tapping on the sides of his own head - same actor, same lines, new scenery?

He saw Toshiya squirrelling pills away in the white corridors of an institution, and he saw him tying a shoelace as a tourniquet around his upper arm, pulling it tight with his teeth. It looked different, but it ended the same; in both scenarios, there his sad, elegant body slid down the wall - smooth and clean in the sanatorium, crumbling brick in the outside - and crumpled into a wasted heap on the ground, and in both scenarios his body perhaps jerked and convulsed, and a feverish foam dripped from his slightly parted lips, and his eyes rolled to show the whites—

Ruki shut his eyes tightly and pressed his fingers against them. For a moment he could have sworn that there were two bodies in the bed across the way, spooning sleepily, Toshiya’s arms tangled around Kai’s chest in a deathgrip. For a moment, he was sure, they had been there, and the worst part was that it had been almost impossible to tell them apart, because their skin was exactly the same shade of purplish grey, and they drew breath in a matching death rattle, and the tips of their fingers blackened…

He snapped opened his eyes, shivering and perspiring, to the realisation that his vision had in fact been an edgy half-dream. He clenched his jaw against the pillow and forced himself to look: to reassure himself that Toshiya was just one person, and that his breathing was steady and slow and normal, and that his skin was sweaty and pale but still the good colour, the alive colour.

He thought of Kyo next, preparing to lose whatever fragile hope he might have gained, walking head-down through the hallways of another facility, bouncing from institution to institution. After this, no more lawyer on side: after this, a state place with no windows, with no books; dinner eaten from a shatterproof plastic bowl in a ward where the lights never went out; an impersonal hand scraping a razor carelessly over his cheeks in the morning. There would be no risks there: every bath and trip to the toilet would be performed in front of an unwavering, disinterested stare; every desperate roll of the eye monitored and noted; every restless body bound tightly down.

And Kyo would not be the type to give in. Even without whatever fragile hope propped him up, he would keep going; by some grim force of will he would drag himself through the years. Anger would keep him alive.

Lying there in the dark, even halfway between being asleep and awake, Ruki thought that things had rarely felt clearer. He saw them all on a kind of conveyor belt, Kai at the very front, the rest of them lined up in order behind him. Die first, a gouged-out skeleton, and Toshiya not far behind him, his heart stuttering helplessly under a vomit-stained T-shirt. Uruha next, by the blade or the noose or the pills - pills seemed most likely; something he could count, lull himself into, soothing himself into his grave. Behind him, Shinya whispered into his hands, bloated from drugs, breath rattly from one of those conditions that always seemed to be snuffing out chronic patients in hospital; pneumonia, maybe. Aoi next, fighting against the spectres that dragged at him: parents, friends, nurses, lovers beautiful but somehow terrible in their resurrection; at the very back, Kyo, no expression on his face at all, giving up at last.

What he didn’t see was where he fit into it. When he tried to imagine his future, it was murky. Suppose he got back together with Eiji, experienced his big break at the exhibition; suppose the two of them lived as divine and loving outcasts, sheltered by their wild success and by their hold on the other, making work that the world couldn’t help but stop and look at - it could happen, couldn’t it?

But what then?

It struck him as an unfamiliar kind of thought: there had been a time, not so long ago, when there would have been no bitter muttering of _and then what?_ at the end of a fantasised life with Eiji; the thought would simply never have crossed his mind. Eiji alone, holding out a hand to him, he would _be_ the happy ending; like a wedding in a Shakespeare play, they would reach their innocent climax and never need to go any further.

But there was real life to think about, wasn’t there?

And where was everybody else supposed to fit in? Could Eiji really be expected to stand by his side or wait patiently at home whilst Ruki toured different asylums, sat opposite people who grew less and less familiar to him on each visit; could Ruki really invite over Aoi or Toshiya and pretend not to notice the way Eiji looked at them? Much as he’d always petted Ruki’s dyed hair and said he liked it, there was no getting over the thing he had for dark hair; no getting away from the attraction he felt to mess - to a rangy body that moved in an edgy, tangled way, elegant but neglected; to messy hair and bitten lips and a reckless, almost feverish glint in the eyes that Ruki had never, ever been cool enough to manage.

And anyway, what if he got sick again?

  
  


When he finally fell all the way asleep that night, it was with a childhood fear clutched tight to his chest: a strange, anxious worry that after death, there was no ending. That you simply inhabited a different world - a world of putrefaction, of blood pooling in lower extremities - and that all you did or could ever do was stare up into the blackness, forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still alive! 
> 
> If anybody is still reading this, sorry for the delay. I do intend to finish this fic, but I anticipate it taking a long time, because honestly my life is busy as hell now. This chapter had many incarnations, but the one you've just read was largely written in downtime at work, whilst I was waiting for the chocolate to temper. Yikes!


	50. Chapter 50

Three orange plastic crates full of LP records, and an overstuffed suitcase.

In a cardboard box, an untidy collection of paperback novels and the overflow clothing that had refused to be stuffed into the case, things Ruki had never seen Die wear: T-shirts and sweaters in colours other than the institutional grey, sad and limp relics of a happier time – Die had so often been forced into the shapeless asylum clothing.

Standing before them now in his winter coat and scarf, he seemed a different person; bulkier, but somehow diminished too. It was like looking at somebody through an x-ray machine, Ruki thought; all that mass and padding stripped away into meaninglessness, leaving only the most vital elements: the ghostly green bones, glowing beneath.

Those fragile bones drew every eye, impossible to ignore. Next to Ruki, Toshiya directed a small, vacant sort of smile at the floor. His hands were shaking.

The five of them who remained stood in an untidy semicircle around Die, who had has back to the open door of the stairwell. Shinya, dopey still from the tranquillizers, blinked and sagged against the wall; Aoi stood unnaturally straight-backed and still. It was very, very early; breakfast wouldn't be for another hour, and Ruki shivered in the chill of the dawn. It was quiet enough to hear that down the staircase and outside, Die's parents had started the car and had the engine idling; a clear message that they didn't plan to let their son stay here long.

The men all wore shoes and sweaters, because they were being allowed out to say goodbye. With a strangely stiff facial expression, Die gave a jerky sort of nod, and as if it had been some sort of signal Aoi stepped forward and picked up the suitcase. Kyo took the top two orange crates, and Ruki found the presence of mind to lurch forward and pick up the final third one; Die himself carried the cardboard box. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and the six of them set off in an untidy, straggling sort of line, Shinya supported by Toshiya. They wore matching facial expressions, Ruki realised with a painful jolt; identical slack, stupid half-smiles. With what seemed like a great effort, Shinya rubbed at his eyes.

As they descended, the air started to grow frigid; in the highly polished reception, the front door stood open, letting the cold in. It wasn't snowing yet, but the sky was heavy looking.

Everything seemed hyper-realistic, as though the brightness and saturation of life had been turned up somehow. Ruki felt the edges of the crate he carried pressing red lines into his skin. He heard his breathing and his heartbeat, smelled flinty winter air and lemon floor wax and car exhaust. Silently those of them with luggage laboured, shivering, to stack it in the car's trunk, and Die's father shut it with an abrupt clunking noise. It felt like punctuation: the end. Die's mother dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief and hastily folded herself into the passenger seat of the car; looking on a little helplessly, Die's father hesitated for a moment before taking his own seat behind the wheel.

'I'll call,' Die said lamely. His voice sounded tinny.

'How long'll it take you to get home?' Toshiya asked, his voice low and strangely melodious, and Die gave a rough shrug.

'Three, three and half hours, maybe. I...' he glanced around at them anxiously, 'I'll call this evening. After dinner. I promise.' He paused, looking agitated, and made a flinchlike sort of gesture towards Aoi, 'Aoi, I—'

'Don't worry,' the dark-haired man said in a strange, cheery voice. Ruki blinked.

'Aoi...I'll write and everything. And when you get out, you can come and stay; you can stay as long as you like, my parents say so too.'

'Sure,' Aoi said, still in that oddly bright voice, and when Ruki peered at his face he saw that it was stretched into a painful sort of smile; the sort of smile that looked almost like a grimace. 'Of course. Thanks.'

'Well...' Die bit his lip, watching Aoi worriedly, 'Thank you. For everything.'

'Yep,' Aoi said cheerfully. 'Yeah, okay. Any time.'

There was a horrible silence.

'Aoi...'

'Your parents are waiting,' Aoi said, a sort of rushed quality to his voice, as though he couldn't quite keep it in, 'You should get going before it snows. You don't want to get stuck.'

He gave a swallow that sounded dry and uncomfortable, and his smile wobbled momentarily before he righted it. 'Bye, then,' he said.

If it had been a movie, Ruki thought, something more dramatic would have happened, something where the meaning was pure and strong and clear: Die would have said something like _I love you_ , haltingly at first and then urgently, and the shell Aoi had worn ever since Ruki had known him would have cracked right down the middle, and then – and then _what_ , he asked himself sourly; _what_ , Uruha would appear from behind the scenery, waltzing in for the big musical number; Die's worried expression would have transformed itself into a Hollywood Forever smile? Stages of gold, and a soaring crescendo?

Perhaps, if it had been a movie. It wasn't really the trappings that Ruki wanted anyway; just the drama, the clarity of meaning; the understanding. Real life, of course, was disappointingly anticlimactic: the five of them watched, quiet and still, as Die raised a single hand in goodbye and, faltering a little, disappeared into the back seat of the car, which idled only a moment longer before the engine sound changed into a more determined one, and the vehicle started weaving its careful way away down the mountain roads.

And Ruki was left without a clue what any of it meant, and Aoi, still with that terrible smile on his face, was the first to turn his face away and head back inside.

 

It was a day, after that, of closed doors. Apparently nobody thought of making a break for it whilst briefly unsupervised out in the early morning; one by one, they grew too cold to remain outside, and faded back into the cloying safety of the indoors. The last into the ward, after silently and rather forcefully nodding Kyo through ahead of him, Ruki was the one to close the door quietly behind them all. He avoided the smile of the nurse on duty as she moved swiftly forth to lock it. He heard as if in a dream the efficient swishing noise of her uniform as she walked.

Ruki didn't want to go back into his bedroom, so he headed for the music room. It looked strange without its familiar clutter of LPs, most of them half in and half slipping out of their sleeves; the record player had been tucked far back in a corner with its chunky power cord wrapped neatly around its legs. On top of the piano there was a small grey plastic object, and Ruki touched it reverently: Die's cassette player, sitting there like an offering; Ruki felt too superstitious to move it. He heard in his head its phantom click, the muffled quality of sound heard through the thick door of the isolation room; The Beatles, _Good Day Sunshine_. He tried to hum it, but his voice cracked in his throat; he wiped his face hurriedly.

'You okay?'

Ruki didn't have to turn around to see that it was Toshiya: glancing up, he caught his reflection in the window.

'Yeah, of course.'

Silently, Toshiya moved forward to stand beside him. He placed his hands steadily on the lid of the piano, spreading his fingers out as wide as he could.

 _He's doing that_ , Ruki thought, _so they won't shake so much._

In that moment, Ruki felt utterly sick of him. He turned to leave the room, but Toshiya grabbed at his elbow, surprisingly fast.

'Ruki,' he said, 'Please. You shouldn't be alone. Listen—'

'I don't want to,' Ruki said tiredly.

'But—'

'It's true, isn't it? What Kyo told me, about you taking Shinya's medication.'

He spoke quietly, but his words had the strangely metallic, ringing echo of a slap; Toshiya jolted, looking stricken. As if as an afterthought, or perhaps independent of any decision-making on his part at all, Toshiya's hand released Ruki's forearm.

'Narc,' he said good-naturedly, and then gave Ruki a level sort of look. Expressionless, not bothering to add a question mark, he asked, 'Are you pissed.' Ruki gave a jerky shrug.

'It's your life. I just don't want to talk to you.'

He stayed where he was, though, and Toshiya let out a long, slow breath.

'We all need something to help us get by,' he said, his voice careful but with a slight shake beneath it. Ruki shook his head.

'No. Not me. Not Shinya. Not Kyo—'

' _Yes_ ,' Toshiya said, his eyes very dark and urgent-looking, 'You. Shinya. Kyo. _Everybody_.'

'There's a difference between taking what's prescribed for you and—'

'Not _drugs_ ,' Toshiya said breathlessly, as if it was obvious, ' _Eiji_ , for you. _That's_ what keeps you going. Getting his letters, thinking he's in love with you; and then Shinya's got, I don't know, the _voices_ inside his fucking head—'

'And Kyo?' Ruki said, trying to keep his voice calm even though his whole body was trembling. Toshiya just shook his head helplessly.

Ruki was aware that he was breathing heavily, as if he'd just run the whole distance from Eiji's Namba apartment to his old dorm without stopping; he tried to force himself to stop. Toshiya seemed to be doing something similar; he was gripping the piano top very hard, his knuckles white. Sheepishly, he glanced at Ruki, but Ruki wasn't sure enough about how he felt to rearrange his own facial expression and so Toshiya saw him how he was: confused, and upset, and above all _tired_.

'He does love me,' Ruki said finally, relieved to hear that his voice had steadied itself somewhat, 'He said so.'

'Ruki,' Toshiya said softly.

'He _told_ me.'

'I know, but he lies,' Toshiya said.

Silently, the two of them stood looking at each other. Ruki crossed his arms a little awkwardly over his chest.

'I wouldn't expect you to understand,' he said, keeping his gaze fixed somewhere south of Toshiya's eyes.

'He doesn't love you.'

It was strange, Ruki thought, how it was really the gentleness of Toshiya's voice that threatened to undo him; the care he was taking to somehow try not to hurt. It made it seem far more real. It made it ache so much more than it might have done.

'You're jealous,' Ruki said plainly, 'Because I'm going to leave here, and I'm going to have someone. But nobody cares about you any more. I'm going to have a life, and you're just...you're just a junkie.'

The look Toshiya gave him was a hard one to understand; more disappointed than anything else.

'He doesn't love you.'

'When you die,' Ruki pressed on manfully, 'Nobody will know who you are. Nobody will even be able to identify you. You're just – you're just going to lie in some alleyway, until you start to smell, and somebody finally notices you. And then the city council will cremate you, and your ashes will – will...' he faltered. 'I don't know what happens to them when nobody claims them.'

Toshiya shrugged.

'I guess they probably get buried at some point. Six months down the line, maybe; give somebody time to come forward with a name. We've got a family plot, you know. Weird thinking that I'm never going to be in it.' He shrugged. 'I know it's illogical, but I suppose I always sort of assumed I'd end up there.'

Ruki hesitated, cowed.

'You ever think of getting back in touch with them?' he asked delicately, and Toshiya smiled, shaking his head so that his long hair swayed around his shoulders.

'Nah. Maybe one day, if I get my life together. I just don't wanna...you know...I don't want to break my mother's heart, or anything.'

'Do they...do they know you're alive, right now?' Ruki asked, and Toshiya gave a gentle shrug.

'Maybe, maybe not. But they moved house, so I guess they probably...I suppose they must have given up looking. Or not looking, but – waiting. I suppose they must have given up waiting for me to come home. I did try it, once, but it was only about a year ago. That's how I know they moved: there was a different family there. I can't imagine how they must have felt to see someone like me on their doorstep. Horrified, probably.'

He tried for a laugh, and then sighed. When he smiled at Ruki, it felt natural. 'I think I want a sleep,' he said, lightly.

'It'll be breakfast, soon.'

'Mm,' Toshiya said vacantly. He dropped his gaze back down to his own hands, apparently examining them. 'What'll you do when you get out?'

Ruki felt an odd twist in his stomach. 'I don't know that I'll get out, yet. Nobody's confirmed anything.'

'They'll let you out,' Toshiya said patiently.

'I guess...live with Eiji. He's offered, and I don't want to go home.'

'Any other reasons?'

'Huh?'

Toshiya eyed him. 'He's offered, and you don't want to go home...anything else?'

'Do I need other reasons?' Ruki asked a little waspishly, but Toshiya just gave him an infuriating smile.

'How about, _he asked me to live with him and I thought it'd be great_? Or _I'm so in love with him, it'd be a dream come true_?'

'I thought that was implied,' Ruki said sourly, but paused. 'What will you do?'

Toshiya gave a loose shrug. 'If this place goes bust before my sentence is up, I guess I'll be moved somewhere else.'

'Yeah, but after that?'

Toshiya gave him another look that felt hard to decipher: almost pitying. Before Ruki had a chance to ask about it, though, breakfast was announced, and Toshiya's face lapsed back into its usual gentle, optimistic smile.

 

There was very little conversation around the table that morning.

Die's chair stood painfully empty, pushed as far in as it could go beneath the table, as if to discourage anybody else from sitting there; nobody sat in it, but nobody took their normal places, either. They didn't have much of a choice; when Ruki entered the room he found Aoi sitting quietly in Shinya's normal chair, which threw him so much he simply drew out the seat closest to the door, and looking a little confused, Toshiya sat down next to him. When Shinya and Kyo entered, they didn't give any sign of noticing anything was different: Shinya looked very drowsy again, and seemed not to know how to control his limbs properly.

The new arrangement put Kyo directly opposite Ruki. Both men kept their eyes focussed mostly on their plates, but even so Ruki could feel his presence there: he knew that if he slid one of his feet forward only slightly, it would be between the other man's legs; he imagined he could feel the heat of Kyo's skin through his clothes where their knees nearly touched.

It was distracting, and as he steadily ate his way through his breakfast, he found his thoughts kept straying back to his first date with Eiji: the first real date, anyway, when Eiji had taken him out to dinner. He'd found the thought of eating in front of him – actually chewing and swallowing and digesting in front of _Eiji_ – suddenly impossible; surely he couldn't behave so crudely? He'd ended up doing little more than picking at his meal, and on the way home Eiji had asked him delicately whether or not he'd liked it, and stupidly he'd found himself confessing to the whole thing and Eiji had laughed, looped an arm around his waist, crushed a kiss on the top of Ruki's head and called him adorable...

Toshiya nudged him, and he realised that he had been scraping his chopsticks vaguely inside his empty bowl. Flushing, he set them down. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he looked determinedly past his roommate's questioning expression, focussing on Aoi at the other end of the table.

The sight was like a punch in the stomach; just as shocking, as if he'd lost all his breath. He felt his hands squeezing tightly into helpless fists, as though he could have changed anything.

Perhaps it was the absence of Die's starved frame that made it so evident how very bony Aoi had grown in the past few months; quite at odds to the spiky, always-everywhere character Ruki had first met, this man looked positively _small_ , shrunken all over, as if had been compressed into some tight and dark space for years on end. He hadn't picked up his cutlery, but was directing the same terrible smile down at it that he'd been wearing earlier, an aimless and scary sort of smile, as though some cruel marionette had tied strings to the corners of his mouth.

Ruki remembered when Die had been getting so ill, on that awful day shortly after Kai's death when Uruha's father had come to visit; he remembered how Mr Takashima had shut his son away with him behind a locked door and how standing up had made Die turn a funny colour and start coughing painfully, and he remembered the trapped look in Aoi's eyes, and how he had slowly and despairingly got down on his knees, and how he had lowered himself until his forehead had touched upon the cool polished floor. His hands had curled into fists, and there he had cried.

And Ruki remembered the morning he'd found Kai lying so stiff and cold and still in his bed, and the intensity with which Aoi had cried; he had clutched at his own hair and cried with the force of somebody vomiting, and Die had taken him into his arms...

But now, Ruki thought miserably, he was at rock bottom, his support structure gone; now there was no way he could lower himself further to curl up on the floor, no Die to wrap his arms around him. He was out of chances, Ruki realised, and that was why he kept smiling so hideously, so desperately; if he let go this time, cracked this time, then there was a very real chance he might shatter irreparably. He would say something, Ruki knew, or do something that would send him upstairs; he would do or say something that would mean he might never _get better_ ; he would be passed from institution to institution through the years, sinking deeper and deeper into his own mind like being pushed underwater, like being held under one of the streams that ran through the mountains here.

And when they had him all the way under and only able to stare up at the sky through the water, they would let the winter come, and the river would freeze: Ruki was quite sure of that. They would turn his mind into a black airless sack and they would stuff him in there, and they wouldn't stop restraining or electrocuting or drugging him until the day he died.

He looked helplessly up into Kyo's eyes; it seemed the other man might have been studying him for a little while. Looking at him, Ruki felt he might possibly understand what was going through his mind; it might have been an intrusive feeling, but at that moment it seemed wonderfully comforting. How peaceful, he thought limply, to be understood without having to explain; wasn't that all that anybody ever wanted from other people, or from love?

Outside the window, the sky was pure white. Ruki slid a fingernail over the ridge of his teeth and started chewing on it agitatedly. He wondered where Die was, where Uruha was, but they were unfastened and loosely drifting sort of thoughts because the answers didn't really matter any more. Whether Die was standing right outside the door of the sanatorium or not, whether Uruha was in a courthouse in Kyoto or trekking the jungles of Brazil, it made no difference. They were on the outside; would always be on the outside, now.

And Aoi was in.

Forever.

The minute Ruki thought that he backtracked, mentally scribbled it out, because of course Aoi wasn't in _forever_ ; they had no reason at all to keep him in. He examined that thought closely, tried to search at it from every possible angle, but he didn't see any reason why they might try and get him transferred somewhere else; anywhere he went, he thought, they would surely realise that he didn't belong there and subsequently let him go – in which case, why bother? Realistically, all Aoi had to do was survive until they released him.

It should have been a comforting thought, but when his eyes found Kyo's again, he felt a shiver run all the way up his spine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this would be over soon? Yeah, I know. 
> 
> Anyway: thank you so much to everyone who is still reading, and especially those who leave comments! I regret a lot that I have so little time to be here these days, but please bear with me whilst I frantically try to keep my business above ground and plan my wedding. By the way, that sound you just heard was me stress sobbing...


	51. Chapter 51

‘You know when I was younger, and I used to bike to school, I once had a really bad accident. I was going down the hill and something kicked up into my wheel - like a stick or something, I don’t know - jammed it, and I came off.  _ Flew _ off.’ 

Sitting in the very centre of his bed, Aoi half-smiled. He glanced up through his hair, his dark, secretive eyes finding Ruki’s concerned ones. ‘I got taken to the hospital...I woke up on the way.’ He snorted, ‘I broke my wrist in, like, four places. Must have looked dumb as fuck. But all the time afterwards, in the hospital, I felt like it wasn’t real. You know? And after they put it in a cast and everything, and I went home and went to bed and woke up the next day, things still didn’t feel real...not exactly.’ He shrugged. ‘And I know - I know it’s real life.’

He looked at Ruki as if he was expecting him to argue, but Ruki kept his mouth shut, waiting. Aoi smiled again, a little strangely.

‘But I used to get the stupidest feeling, sometimes,’ he continued meditatively, selecting each word with care, ‘That I never woke up. That I was lying in a hospital room, in a coma, surrounded by machines. Sometimes, I was sure I could hear them beeping. And sometimes...less often...I could swear I was hearing somebody calling my name from a distance. Like maybe somebody was at my bedside, trying to reach me.’ 

Outside it was stormy and a sleety rain was falling; it spattered against the window in Aoi’s dorm room and froze almost instantly into cracked fractal patterns. The red piece of clothing that he and Die had kept wrapped around the lightbulb to give the room its bordello glow had gone, packed away and shipped back off to Mie with its owner; the light from the bare bulb seemed harsh and glaring without it. 

‘I knew, though,’ Aoi said finally, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, ‘That it couldn’t be. I knew because when I was up there--’ he gestured limply towards the ceiling with his chin, ‘I could hear it; I could hear my name being called, and it was them. Them calling me. Uruha, and Die.’ 

He paused, his intense gaze fixed fast to Ruki’s face, as if daring him to doubt him. ‘So I knew it had to be all in my mind, because I didn’t know them, then.’ He gave a derisive sniff. ‘Besides, if I’d been in a coma, my parents would have switched the life support machine off long ago. They’d have been yanking the god damn plug out of the wall.’ 

Sighing, he leant back against the wall, his hair dark and messy against the pastel paint. He let his eyes fall closed; he looked exhausted, Ruki thought. His flesh had a greyish cast to it, and the skin beneath his eyes was a weird mauve colour. 

‘He’ll call tomorrow,’ Ruki said; his voice failed him halfway through and came out wavery and mangled. He swallowed thickly. ‘He’ll call.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Aoi smiled at him strangely - almost pityingly. ‘Yeah, okay.’ 

‘He  _ will _ ,’ Ruki insisted sharply, but his words seemed to ring hollow even in his own ears. Blindly, he turned his gaze towards the darkness outside of the window, listening to the pitch of the wind rise into a scream and then drop again. A fresh handful of raindrops hit the window with a sound like fingernails. 

‘There are lots of reasons,’ Ruki said quietly, ‘Why he hasn’t called. Maybe he just - maybe he  _ can’t _ . Maybe they were driving when the storm moved in, and they had to turn off and stay at a hotel instead, or something. Maybe he just felt overwhelmed when he got home and had to crash out.’ 

‘Uh huh.’ 

‘Aoi!’ Ruki said fiercely, and the man sitting opposite him turned a weary glance in his direction.

‘I understand what you’re trying to do,’ he said listlessly, ‘But be a good boy and drop it, would you?’ 

‘Aoi, you...you need to trust him!’

Aoi smiled, almost naturally. ‘Why?’ he asked, sounding genuinely interested. 

‘Because - because look at you!  _ This _ isn’t you.’ Ruki swallowed, unable to find the words to explain how  _ scary _ it felt, looking into Aoi’s bland, tolerant eyes, ‘The Aoi I knew wouldn’t just be sitting here fucking  _ taking _ it; he’d be - he’d be getting angry, at least. You used to get so mad at Die when he hurt himself, and now that he’s hurting you, you’re just going to roll over and give up?’ 

Placidly, Aoi shrugged. There was a vacancy, Ruki thought, a kind of vacancy to the look in his eyes and the way he moved his body that chilled him to the bone; it was as though he wasn’t really here - as though he wasn’t really listening. He had a look on his face that Ruki had seen on Shinya’s face before, the glazed and somehow distant expression that came over him when he was tuning into a secret voice that might have come from his very own bones - a voice that only he could hear. 

And it seemed, Ruki thought with a twist of terror, that whatever soft and kindly voices were speaking to him on the outside, that internal voice was the one that Aoi was listening to. That was the voice that he believed. 

‘Aoi,’ he said carefully, ‘You’re scaring me.’ 

‘Sorry about that.’

‘Aoi!’

Frustrated, Ruki reached out between the two beds and actually grasped him by the shoulder, trying to shake him out of whatever trance he was in. ‘Aoi,’ he repeated, speaking quickly and quietly, ‘Listen to me. Please. I don’t know what’s going on with Die, but I do know that they’re going to start making decisions around here pretty soon - decisions about whether they release people, or whether they send them on - maybe somewhere worse.’ He paused, a sudden lump in his throat making it hard for him to talk, ‘So listen, you need to get your  _ fucking _ shit together, you hear me?’ 

‘Ruki, I’m tired. I need to go to sleep.’ 

‘But you…’ Uncertainly, Ruki trailed off. ‘Don’t you maybe...maybe want to sleep in our room tonight, or something; mine and Toshiya’s, I mean? We can push the beds together. Or I can sleep in here, if you want. I’ll sleep on the floor if you don’t want me to sleep in Die’s bed--’

‘No, that’s fine,’ Aoi said blankly, ‘I’d rather be by myself.’ 

‘Aoi…’ 

‘Really,’ the other man said, giving Ruki a gentle smile, ‘I just want to be alone.’

‘But…’ Ruki bit his lip, unable to stop the weird anxiousness from rising inside of him, ‘I don’t think you should really be...on your own.’ 

Sighing, Aoi lay back, stretching out on the bed before curling up. He moved in a peculiar way, for him; no languid, swaying motions, no catlike gestures. He looked, instead, rather stiffly jointed, like the little wooden artists’ mannequins Ruki had endured years of drawing in school. 

‘Nothing is going happen,’ Aoi said dully, ‘So please fuck off.’ 

‘But--’ 

‘Ruki?’

‘Yeah?’ 

He could feel his heart beating painfully in his throat; on the bed, Aoi gave him a long, inscrutable look. 

‘Turn off the light on your way out,’ he said finally, and turned over in bed to face the wall. 

 

It might have been, Ruki thought, the longest night of his life. 

Trapped by the mountains, the storm thrashed around the building; through the blurriness of the ice on the windows and the midnight darkness, Ruki could just about see the grotesquely deformed silhouettes of the trees as the wind dragged them sideways, scraping a harsh hand across the landscape. Close by in the darkness, Toshiya’s wide open eyes glinted as though he was crying; in the breaks between gusts of wind, Ruki became aware of how his roommate’s body shivered and his teeth chattered, an echo of his own. The two of them were huddled desperately inside the tiny warm spaces they had created for themselves inside their nests of blankets, but it wasn’t enough; blasts of icy air found the cracks in the building and entered around the eaves, through the places where the wooden window frames had warped and buckled; the draughts blew freely across the floor from under the door and Ruki could see his breath rising in a white mist in front of him. The rain had become hail, rattling against the windows like gunfire. Ruki wondered how much the glass could take without simply shattering. 

‘I tell you something,’ Toshiya whispered, his voice juddering unsteadily with cold, ‘When I get out of here, I’m going somewhere  _ warm _ . Maybe even somewhere abroad.’ 

‘You ever left the country before?’ 

‘No. You?’ 

‘No.’ Ruki hesitated, clutching his covers over his shivering body desperately, ‘Eiji used to say we’d take a trip together - go to Europe or something. I think he thought if he went to France, he’d end up living some romantic, impoverished life in Montmartre, or something. Be a real artist, instead of just...a fraud,’ he mumbled.

Toshiya didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Quietly, the two of them shivered in the darkness. 

‘He waited by the phones all evening,’ Toshiya said at last in a low voice, speaking as though it was a perfectly natural continuation of their conversation,  _ ‘Why _ didn’t Die call?’ 

The lump was back in Ruki’s throat again, hideously sour-tasting; he swallowed around it. 

‘I don’t know,’ he said in a tight, strange-sounding voice. He heard the rustle of bed linen as Toshiya turned to face him in the darkness, and pulled the blankets along with him as he shifted to meet his roommate’s darkly shining gaze. ‘I don’t know,’ he repeated. ‘I keep...trying to find ways to explain it, but I can’t. Not really.’ 

‘Suppose…’ Toshiya said slowly, evidently choosing his words with caution, ‘Suppose we just...put too much faith in their relationship, or something. Thought their bond was tighter than it is?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Ruki said, unable to keep the slightly hostile tone from his voice, and Toshiya sighed. 

‘I don’t know,’ he said carefully, ‘But it’s just...it’s just that this, in here, it’s not exactly the real world, is it?’ 

_ ‘So _ ?’ 

‘So...so I’m not saying that they didn’t care about each other; I promise I’m not. But Die’s out there now, and - and it’s not as if he was into guys when he came in here, right?’ 

‘What’s your point?’ Ruki said defensively.

‘My point is that maybe he latched onto somebody in here who he wouldn’t normally have chosen. But out there, there are…’

Ruki gave him a very hard look. 

_ ‘Girls _ ,’ Toshiya finished painfully. ‘Not...medical receptionists or group therapists or nurses;  _ real _ girls. I just...I don’t know if Aoi can compare to that.’ 

There was an agonising silence. 

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ruki said woodenly. ‘Even if he didn’t want to be with him anymore, Die wouldn’t just...he wouldn’t just abandon him like that. Die - he  _ loved _ him. I know he did.’ 

‘I know,’ Toshiya said softly, ‘But Die...he’s not the strongest person, Ruki. What if he got out and decided it was easiest to just pretend none of it ever happened?’ Uncomfortably, he fiddled with his blankets, curling his body up tighter, ‘If he wants to move on, and get better, he’s going to have to...you know, he’s going to have to leave this place behind.’ 

‘The  _ place _ ,’ Ruki argued stubbornly, ‘Not the  _ people _ . Not Aoi.’ 

A little awkwardly, given the blankets heaped around his shoulders, Toshiya shrugged. 

‘Well, it’s just a theory.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Ruki bristled, ‘It is.’ 

The silence between them was not a pleasant one: angrily, Ruki rolled onto his other side, glaring at the wall. In the gloom, silhouettes of beautiful girls seemed to shift and shrug suggestively;  _ girls _ , Toshiya whispered inside his head,  _ real girls _ . He pictured them like the girls in adverts, with flippy little skirts and pearly nail polish; he summoned into a life a perfect heart-shaped face with every feature beautifully proportional: pretty, pouty, glossy lips; almond-shaped eyes, a dainty nose. Her face would be pale, her hair dark and long and brushed until it felt like silk. 

Stuffed away at the back of Ruki’s mind, Aoi appeared more filthy and dishevelled than ever. Whilst the parade of phantom women danced and giggled and preened themselves, Aoi tugged his fingers through the tangles in his hair and bit at his nails; as they drew on redder mouths with lipstick, Aoi faded into a greying wanness; pulled the sleeves of his asylum-issue clothing down over his hands, sunken and stagnated. 

The thing was, Ruki thought sadly, it wasn’t the beauty that worried him - not really. That conga line of dainty, dolled-up girls; they just didn’t seem very real to him. 

But what about another girl? What about a girl with a haughty, intelligent face; an elegant, lazy kind of body, her every bone as fine as if it was turned on a lathe? Her eyes would be sleepy, sarcastic; her grin just slightly wicked, and she would take Die’s face into her hands and run her sharp, thin fingers through his hair, give him the kind of soft look he would know was saved just for him. 

It was not, Ruki saw, impossible. 

‘Ruki?’ Toshiya whispered in the darkness, ‘Forget I said anything, all right? I didn’t mean it.’

She would have grown up in the same town as him; she would have known him from his before days, healthy and whole. She would remind him of those better days, and Die’s memories of Aoi - of all of them - would evaporate like the tail end of a bad dream. 

And when it really came down to it, Aoi was just another mental patient, locked up in the Kyoto hills, miles and miles away. The long-limbed, devilishly grinning girl in Ruki’s imagination: what chance would Aoi have against the likes of her? 

‘Ruki?’ Toshiya was saying, ‘Ruki, are you ignoring me?’

‘I’m scared,’ Ruki found himself whispering, his voice tiny and fragile in the darkness, the sound of the wind screaming behind it. He felt something warm against his numb face, and realised that he was crying; huge silent tears were sliding down his cheeks, dampening his pillow. ‘I’m scared of--’

He broke off, crying too hard to continue; he felt ashamed but completely unable to control himself. Harshly, he sobbed, his pillow only half muffling the sound, and when he heard the rustle of bedclothes behind him he thought nothing of it, but he certainly did think something of it when the blankets that were covering his own body were suddenly peeled away, and a blast of arctic air hit his skin. 

‘What the fuck?’ he gulped, wiping at his eyes hurriedly; his breath was coming out so unevenly that his words broke up into almost nothing. 

‘Move over,’ Toshiya whispered. ‘Seriously, come on. I’m fucking freezing.’ 

Dazedly, Ruki did so, shifting further towards the wall, and to his surprise he felt the mattress dip and sway as Toshiya settled his long, lean body into the bed beside him. There was a brief pause whilst his roommate fussed with the covers, pulling them in tight around the both of them, and then Toshiya’s arms were tangling themselves clumsily around his waist.

‘Wh-what are you doing?’ Ruki gasped, his voice thick from tears. Toshiya’s body was about as cold as his own - he could feel the other man shivering - but still he couldn’t quite help himself from leaning back into the other man’s hold, trying to get at what little warmth there was there. Toshiya was tall enough to tuck his chin neatly on top of Ruki’s head, and where he was positioned Ruki could hear the sound of his heartbeat, deep and slow and steady. It was oddly soothing, being cradled against his chest; soothing, but not at all sexual. He felt oddly as though he was being held by a parent - held in a way he could barely remember experiencing before - and he had more protestations ready but, slightly confused, he fell silent. With his head mostly under the covers he could hear his own nervous, uneven breaths, filling the dark space around him. 

‘I’m not going to get in trouble with a certain person for sleeping with you like this, am I?’ Toshiya asked, his voice a low rumble through his chest, and Ruki shook his head as much as he was able to. 

‘Kyo won’t care,’ he mumbled. 

Toshiya paused just for a single beat. 

‘I meant Eiji,’ he said.

‘Oh. Yeah, me too. I’m tired.’ 

‘Okay. Relax,’ Toshiya said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he gathered Ruki more closely to him. The wind howled particularly loudly outside, and Ruki had an impression of the building huddling close to its foundations, sheltering desperately under its own fragile eaves. 

‘I used to love that sound,’ Toshiya said quietly, ‘When I was a kid. I used to love curling up in bed and listening to a storm outside; it made me feel so safe.’ 

‘It’s so much louder on the other side of the building,’ Ruki said, fighting to get his breath back under control. ‘On Kyo and Shinya and Aoi’s side.’ 

‘There’s so few of us left,’ Toshiya said softly. ‘Just them, and just us on this side. It’s hardly anybody.’ He sighed, his breath ruffling the hair on top of Ruki’s head, ‘I wonder who’ll leave next.’ 

Neither of them mentioned the obvious: that it would be either of them, most likely. Ruki wormed his hand up to his mouth and started to bite at his fingernails. 

Yes, either him or Toshiya leaving next: that was the sensible thing to assume - but there was something else, too; some creeping fear that had taken hold of him as soon as he’d seen the slack, deadened look in Aoi’s eyes, the resigned sag to his shoulders; the puppetlike smile directed at the floor. 

He pictured him now and he pictured Kai, smiling the same smile, the night before he died. 

They could have been brothers, he realised with a sick jolt. The resemblance was that close. 

Maybe Aoi had never imagined that he would be released; maybe he would have seen that, bigmouth as he was,  _ lucid _ as he was, he would always be far too dangerous, far too much of a liability. Maybe Die’s leaving would have pushed him over that edge, snuffed out the last tiny spark of hope on the horizon; maybe it was more like Aoi, after all, to end his time in the sanatorium on his own terms - to find the escape inside of himself, the one crawling darkly inside his own veins. 

The voice inside his head. 

Slowly, Toshiya’s breathing started to even out and turn light and kittenish, but Ruki couldn’t sleep. Dry-eyed now, he stared up at the last few postcards he had stuck up next to his bed - their designs weren’t visible in the dark, but he could just catch the glimmer from their glossy surfaces - and thought about the last time he’d been lying in this bed with another person, looking up at those postcards; thought about how safe he’d felt in somebody else’s arms then. Comforting as Toshiya’s hold was, it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t the same. 

 

All in all, Ruki managed to catch perhaps half an hour’s sleep. The storm began to abate slightly as the night wore on, and by the time he finally entered into his fitful half-dreams, the wind had died down to a low and almost constant moan, though the sleet was falling harder than ever. 

It was a grey, dull-looking morning that he awoke to. The sky between the bars on the window looked so gloomy that the sun might not have risen at all; the ice plastering the windows had cracked and was coming slowly away from the glass. 

He couldn’t quite tell what had woken him. He shifted, his face puffy and aching from lack of sleep, and felt Toshiya’s morning wood poke him insistently in the back; his roommate made a soft snorting sound in his sleep as grimly, Ruki fought his way out of the nest of blankets and the tangle of limbs surrounding him. 

It was very cold still. Grudgingly he pulled the covers back up around Toshiya’s neck and tucked them in; blissfully, Toshiya slept on, snoring softly now, his loose hair fluttering in the gentle current of his breath. 

‘Junkie,’ Ruki muttered, though his heart wasn’t in it, and dragged a sweatshirt over his head. He felt sticky-eyed and dazed, and he rubbed tiredly at his face. His feet were numb-feeling against the chilly floor, and it was that more than anything that got him moving. 

Out in the corridor, there was nobody. Even the nurses’ station was empty, Ruki noted with a feeling of deep misgiving, and his heart gave a queasy sort of thump in his chest. It seemed to have lodged itself somewhere higher up than normal, making it hard for him to breathe, and very nervously he tiptoed across the corridor to Aoi’s bedroom door. 

It was neatly closed, and in the dim light, it looked completely innocent. Biting hard at his lip, Ruki touched the very tips of his fingers to it. The paint was cool. 

‘Coward,’ he whispered to himself. He tried for a mocking tone of voice, but he hadn’t had enough practice at using his voice yet, and the word came out cracked and almost inaudible. Very tentatively, he made his hand into a fist and gave the door a light knock. 

He waited, feeling sick. 

Nothing. 

He knocked again, harder. 

More nothing, and the sense of dread that rushed through him was enough to make him weak; desperately, he leant forward and rested his forehead against the door, trying to calm the terrible rush of his thoughts.

Let him just be sleeping, he thought desperately, let him not have heard me, oh please, please. Just don’t let him be--

Blindly, he groped for the doorknob and twisted.

 

For a moment, Ruki’s mind couldn’t really believe what his eyes were telling him. 

Slowly he stepped into the room, shivering in the icy wind that came streaming through the open window: it was much, much colder in here. The curtains were snapping wildly in the draught and all over the walls Aoi’s posters and photographs were peeling away and flapping loosely. 

Steadily, Ruki placed a hand on each of the beds, as if to confirm by touch what he was seeing: that both beds - Die’s and Aoi’s - were tidily made up, flat and empty, the covers neatly smoothed. 

Stiffly, almost mechanically, he got down on his knees and checked under both the beds, but all he found was dust. 

The rooms were not large; there was nowhere else to look. And Ruki knew, with more certainty than he’d ever known anything in his life, that Aoi was not merely in the bathroom, or in the music room or the TV room, or even in the isolation room or the dining room, or upstairs. 

With numb, clumsy feet, Ruki crossed to the window, placed both of his hands on its wet and freezing sill, and looked out. 

Snow: that was all he could see at first, foot upon foot of snow, only shallowly dented by the rain and hail, but very largely disturbed by something - something that had dropped, perhaps, from a considerable height; something the size of a human. 

Absently, Ruki’s fingers found the empty screw holes were the bars had once been attached to the window. He wondered where the bars themselves had vanished to. It took him long, long minutes of searching the ground below before he finally found them, propped neatly up against the side of the building, a strange relic; half buried now, by the snow that had blown their way during the night, but otherwise exactly as Aoi had discarded them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still alive!
> 
> Huge apologies for the delay in getting this update out - it's been a much harder chapter than usual to write! You guys have all been so, so kind and patient with me. Thank you! :)


	52. Chapter 52

Sitting on the threadbare sofa, Ruki thought about blood. He turned his own wrist upwards and examined the vivid blueness of the veins there, pulsing against the white of his skin; he thought of Kai's blood, stiffening and blackening and thick with a riot of powdery medicines; he thought of Aoi's blood jumping hotly through his body and then growing sluggish, retreating away from the surface of the skin. He thought of ice crystals flowering outward in hexagonal shapes, the cracking and creaking sound of winter; he thought of the pain of bending frozen fingers and of purpling lips.

Outside, the sleet had slowed to an occasional scattering from the huge, overstuffed-looking clouds, and the gusts of wind were losing strength and starting to straggle themselves further and further apart. All over the hills below, the damp black shapes of the buried trees had been revealed, creating a dirty sort of pattern against the remaining snow. The overall impression was one of greyness. It was cold, but Ruki thought his body might have finally adjusted. It felt natural to be cold.

Placed like statues around the room were Shinya, Toshiya and Kyo. They stayed mostly still and occupied their spaces in a distinctly unconvincing way; as if they, too, were the kind of patient who might disappear without a moment's warning. Their outlines seemed almost to be fading, blurring, and as Ruki turned his eyes dully from one of them to the next, he found himself internalising them like he was taking photographs: click, Shinya standing on his skinny legs, his chest pressed against the wall and his head craning back to study the ceiling. Click: Toshiya caught mid-sway in front of the television, which to Ruki's eye seemed a sort of prop, a blind black eye on the stage. Click: Kyo, blinking away from the camera's blue flash, washed out and overexposed in a spiky collection of folded limbs, sitting on the floor beneath the window.

Because there were so few of them now, their institutional clothing placed them less obviously in an asylum. Their grey sweaters and loose pants might have been some kind of sports uniform: it wasn't so far-fetched. Who even knew how people on the outside were dressing, these days? You couldn't believe everything you saw in the ads.

The jumpers they wore represented the last four in the sanatorium's collection. It transpired that Aoi, not as dumb as he looked, had burgled more or less the whole supply before taking off. It was a pleasant image, and so Ruki clung to it: much better to imagine Aoi alive like that, wadded up like a snowman and warm enough to grin into the freezing wind; retaining enough feeling in his limbs to continue tramping an unsteady path downwards, towards the lights, and to reach out a hailing arm to a passing car. The unlikelihood of that passing car was a detail to be glossed over, for now: picture instead Aoi's triumph as he heaves his padded body into the back seat, slamming the door behind him hard so that snow slides from the roof; picture the red of his cheeks, the ice melting in his dark hair as he stares expectantly forward through the windshield, his dark eyes crackling with mischief.

Even for him, it was a hell of a stunt.

But since when could you put anything past Aoi?

He might be at Die's already.

 

It was peculiar, but the fewer patients there were, the more the asylum seemed like a proper bedlam. Not because of the clinically malfunctioning residents, but because of the staff: from where they lounged in the television room, calm and safeguarded as if in a snow globe, they could spy the doctors and nurses and orderlies behaving like crazy people out in the corridors. They ransacked rooms, tossed mattresses; an orderly removed a foam ceiling tile and disappeared via a folding ladder into the darkness above their heads. Behind the nurses' station, a white uniform in an incredible panic picked up the phone and held it to her ear for less than a minute before slamming it down again, and Ruki watched with a mild interest as she spun like a hurricane between the two phone booths, holding her head in her hands. Curiously, it was the doctors who looked the most useless. Ruki recognised Sato standing about with an expression of weary bafflement on his neatly arranged face; beside him, the occupational therapist had her features fixed in a polite smile but had almost melted into the wall in her desire to keep out of the way. From Aoi and Die's room a nurse emerged waving a screwdriver like an emergency flare, and on her cheeks two livid fever spots of red stood out. Since the TV room wasn't soundproofed, they could hear as well as see when she stretched her mouth into a wet cavern to yell at whichever unfortunate orderly she'd first happened across that this could have been avoided, that the cupboard with their repair tools was _never_ to be left unlocked; however, the general cacophony was enough that her yells mellowed out into a sort of roaring, rushing noise. In time it boiled down to very little; the squeak of a soft-soled shoe on a polished floor, or an urgent snatch of conversation. Ruki's stomach rumbled, and then somebody else's did: of course, it was past breakfast time, and their stomachs had been trained to expect food at eight o'clock precisely.

From his slow, vacant strolls across the room, Toshiya suddenly dropped down onto an armchair. His eyes were strangely unfocussed, their pupils shrunk to pinpricks, and he smiled softly down at his own lap.

'Eiji's coming today,' Ruki announced to nobody in particular.

His voice felt huge in the quiet, and he shrank back against the sofa cushions. There was perhaps a full minute of silence, and then a hoarse voice:

'Doubt it.'

Something like relief lightened the terrible weight within Ruki's chest, and he directed a sharp look in Kyo's direction.

'He'll be here,' he said flatly. Unconsciously, he began to tap a cigarette out of its packet.

'He won't,' Kyo said, his tone equally blunt. 'The roads will be too bad.'

'If the doctors and nurses can get up here...'

'They've got winter tyres, and chains.'

Ruki's lips formed a straight line.

'He'll make it. To see me.'

A strange expression passed over Kyo's face then: Ruki couldn't tell if it was sad, or simply tired. He got up and gave an artificial sort of stretch, and sauntered over to where Kyo sat hunched up beneath the window. As casually as he could, he dropped down beside him.

'Do you think he's all right?' he asked in a low voice. He was worried for a brief moment that Kyo would think he was talking about Eiji, but he could tell from the other man's face that he didn't; it was evident in the way Kyo exhaled a little more slowly than normal, and in the strange distance that came into his eyes, that he understood Ruki perfectly.

Nor did he have to give an answer. Blank as Kyo's expression was, his verdict was written all over it.

'It gets dark,' he said shortly, 'Up here at night.'

Ruki's heart had started to thud anxiously in his chest; he swallowed heavily, as if to squash it.

'He'll have thought of that,' he said uncertainly, 'He'll have known which direction to start, and...once you get over the ridge, you can see the lights from down in the valley, so...'

Kyo's hesitation was painful.

'The storm will have affected visibility,' he explained, his voice unfamiliarly gentle. He paused for a long moment. 'But they're searching for him. They made a search party.'

'Who?'

'The doctors and nurses.'

'Not the police?'

Kyo gave his head a single shake.

Something weird happened then: Ruki's ears went funny the way they had the one time he'd gone up in a cable car, and all the sounds in the world went dim and muffled, and when he moved his head the whole world seemed to move with him, swaying dizzily on its axis. The blood thudded roughly through his head, and he felt sick. His hands felt distant at the ends of his arms. He tried to say something – croak a warning that he was about to puke his guts out – but when he opened his mouth no sound came out.

He felt a sudden warmth on his forearm, and looked down to see Kyo's hand resting there tentatively. The other man was determinedly not looking at him, but in his calm, measured voice he said, 'Let's get out of here.'

 

They went to Ruki's dorm, where his bed was still in disarray from the morning. Operating at a remove Ruki smoothed the covers down, and the two of them sat down together side by side. The postcards stuck up next to his bed had a weak look in the morning light, he noticed; they were faded and tattered, fluffy-looking paper fibers showing at their edges and the corners curling from the damp, and months of exposure to the sun had bleached them. Absently, he reached out and pulled them away from their moorings, one by one, and shuffled them into a pile. He was clumsy; his fingers were cold and not working too well.

'Do you think Aoi wanted to die?' he asked, his voice warping stupidly because there was so much that he felt stuffed haphazardly behind the question – so much sorrow and fear and even anger, somewhere, burning blackly in amongst all that mess of feeling – that the weight of it was pinching at his throat, crushing his vocal cords flat. When he turned to glance at the other man, he found Kyo with his mouth in a straight line, mulling the question over. The sight gave him a strange rush of gratitude: it was good, he thought distinctly, not to be babied. Not to be protected, and fussed over, and lied to.

'No,' Kyo said at last. 'I don't think he was thinking about death that way.'

'“That way”?'

Kyo shrugged limply, one-shouldered. 'Aoi's a risk-taker who's been locked up for a long time,' he said simply.

'So?'

'So I think the danger would have made him want to do it more.'

Ruki smiled blandly. His hands, frozen, felt like numb claws.

'He could have waited,' he said, hearing the hiss of viciousness in his own voice. 'He would have been let out. What's he trying to prove?'

'I don't think it's about getting away.'

'I...I don't care what you think!' Ruki said, his words tearing out raggedly, 'He didn't need to go! What does he think is going to happen? He'll get caught and locked away somewhere worse, or he'll freeze to death, or he'll lose his way and...people _need_ him! He can't do this!'

He felt enraged by the look of marble calm on Kyo's face: he wanted to shake him. In the soft line of Kyo's shoulders and the bend of his body Ruki's anger had nowhere to go: it burst out of him impotently, like a series of dud fireworks: 'People – shouldn't leave – unless they _have_ to.'

He felt the other man slide him a look. ' _What_?' Ruki snapped.

Kyo shrugged. 'You're crying,' he said quietly.

'No I'm not,' Ruki argued. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand and found that he couldn't breathe; he bent over, clutching at his own knees, his shoulders heaving jaggedly.

Quiet, then. Just the sound of the wind outside, still throwing the occasional handful of sleet at the windows, and the occasional harsh sob tearing itself from Ruki's throat; he remained bent double, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, unable to stop shivering. A clumsy, tentative hand stroked at his hair. It was warm.

Silent images flicked through his mind as if they were on a reel: Aoi, clinging to his haphazard layers of clothing, lost and frightened in the dark. Eiji, his cigarette trailing smoke, smiling his crooked smile in a Namba bar. Hiroshi struggling to drink through a straw. Their faces melded and drew apart; Aoi fell and tried to get up, fell and couldn't get up; Eiji placed his hand flat on the scarred wooden tabletop; Hiroshi's face flattened with exhaustion. Aoi's arm at an odd angle – no, his leg – no, his neck; Eiji turning away to see who had just come in the door; Hiroshi's eyes closing; Aoi lying in the snow until it stopped feeling cold until his whole body was prickling with warmth and felt clean and blank as a baby's until—

' _No_!' Ruki yelped, fisting his own hands desperately in his hair; his forehead was pressed against his knees and he couldn't breathe. With stunted movements, like a creature that had just woken from a long winter hibernation, he crawled into Kyo's lap and cried there gently.

Pathetic, he thought lucidly, to have ever considered Aoi to be something like a brother. Hiroshi had been dead for years, moving on into unreachable places, and what was Ruki doing? Turning in circles. Hunting out substitutes. How could he ever explain that – how desperately he wanted somebody to be a brother to him; to care for him unconditionally, too full of love even for jealousy? Into Hiroshi's vacant hospital-style bed with the railings of the side, Ruki had dragged any number of warm bodies, and each had acted as predictably as the last.

And none had been right, anyway. Despite the railings on the side of the bed, all of them had wriggled free in the end. None of them had loved him enough to stay.

He knew in his heart that Eiji wasn't coming. If he was really honest about it, he had known for days; had perhaps even known from the second Eiji had shown up the first time, because even then he had seemed so completely unreal. He unclenched his fist slowly, and found a clump of his own torn hair stuck to his palm and fingers.

There was an awful sort of tension in his chest, so tight it seemed to be pulling him in and dragging him down to somewhere deep inside of himself, like being stuffed inside a black rubbish bag. The thought crossed his mind that he might not exist at all.

Unsteadily, he sat up. He wobbled on the bed and reached for Kyo with grasping hands; he clung to his shoulders like a drowning man and pushed their faces together messily. There was an impulse inside of him to push as hard as he could; to rip clothes, open himself up as far as he could go and let his real self escape along with the sweat and the cum—

 

But he moved back. He wasn't quite sure why. He felt confused and tense and desperate for some kind of release, but when he looked at Kyo's face and how _disturbed_ the other man looked, he felt a flicker of guilt, as well.

'We should do it,' he said unsteadily, blotting the cold tears from his cheeks. Something stiffened in Kyo's body but he didn't answer; just gave a small nod towards the open pack of cigarettes lying on the night stand.

'Can I?' he asked hoarsely, and Ruki shrugged.

'Sure.'

There was a silence as Kyo took one and lit up. He puffed on it thoughtfully, a faint frown seeming to shut his eyes off.

'You ever notice the colour of the sun on days like this?' he asked at last, and Ruki started.

'Huh?'

Kyo gave a flinchlike gesture towards the window. 'It almost never happens,' he explained, rough-voiced. 'The clouds need to be a certain colour. But the sun looks almost blue.'

Confused, a little worried that Kyo was having him on, Ruki leant over the other man's legs to peer through the window. It took him a little while to find the wan sun, floating up there insubstantially through the clouds, but when he found it his eyes widened slightly: it was a circle of dim white, a white that got deeper the more he looked at it, and as he stared into the sun colour _did_ start to appear. A strange, otherworldly azure. A corona the soft colour of a bruise.

'It really is blue,' he murmured.

The two of them were quiet for some long minutes. With his brow still slightly furrowed, Kyo took his hand, and Ruki clasped onto his palm tightly.

'So much has happened since I first got here,' he said softly. 'Sometimes I think I can understand my life so much better, and sometimes it seems worse. Sometimes I feel like every person I've met here has shown me something different...something that helps. Like turning over another puzzle piece, so I can put it into place. But then they disappear, and the pieces are all that are left. Kai, and Uruha, and Die, and now Aoi.' He swallowed hard. 'I don't want you to disappear.'

Kyo didn't seem to know how to answer that.

'Let's not count Aoi out just yet,' he said finally, his voice slightly strange. Ruki stared up at the sun.

'He could be dead.'

'Yes, he could be,' Kyo agreed simply. 'But I don't think so.'

'You don't?'

'No.' Kyo shrugged. 'I don't feel like he's dead. Do you?'

Startled, Ruki just blinked at him, but when he opened his mouth to answer he was interrupted by the door opening. Perhaps guiltily, they both jumped and turned, and in the open doorway Toshiya propped himself up limply.

'Hey,' he drawled, 'Food, you know. In the dining room. They finally...'

He trailed off, smiling at them beatifically, and as the two of them responded automatically – nodding, unfurling their limbs, getting to their feet – something like a tiny, bitter seed planted itself in Ruki's mind.

 

All through their too-dull, too-quiet meal, the seed grew. Ruki watched Toshiya smile down at his plate and blink in and out of focus and the seed put down roots; he watched how he swayed on his feet and tugged slowly, repeatedly on his T-shirt and the tiny sprout that came from the seed thickened, put out leaves and limbs. He watched how Toshiya sank so deeply into his chair that he appeared almost boneless, and the branches grew tiny, dark, sour fruits.

Through the long, fraught, quiet day, those fruits seemed to swell and mature and ripen. The image of them was so strong – the leathery skin, the pith, the dark and sticky juices – that when night finally fell, and most of the staff had returned to the sanatorium, and Ruki found himself alone in his room with Toshiya again, it was almost confusing. It was confusing because he felt as though he was actually standing in the crotch of this great, twisted tree, reaching up to grasp one of those fruits, and biting into its poison.

'Toshiya,' he said, and his roommate blinked at him slowly.

'Yes,' he said, his fingers busily sliding some invisible bracelet up and down his own forearm. He smiled dazedly.

'Toshiya, look at me.'

'Uh huh.'

'You're on something.'

Toshiya's face screwed up cartoonishly.

'Oh, Ruki,' he said in a soft sort of voice, and in one swift movement Ruki had lurched forward, gripping him tightly by the shoulder so that he was forced to look up into his face.

'Ruki...' Slowly, Toshiya scowled, and made a clumsy attempt to pry the fingers from his skin.

'You helped him,' Ruki said clearly. 'You helped him get away, didn't you?'

'Ruki, that...hurts...'

'You picked the lock for him, on that cupboard the orderlies have where they store all their tools and stuff. That's how he got hold of the screwdriver to take the bars off his window.'

'Ow...'

'He offered you drugs, didn't he?'

'Aoi doesn't take his medicine,' Toshiya said vaguely, his eyes directed at Ruki's face but looking somewhere far short of it, 'Doesn't need it...'

Roughly, Ruki shook him, gaining a bitter sort of satisfaction from Toshiya's small sound of pain.

' _You helped him.'_

'No, but...' Toshiya swallowed, the sound an audible click in his dry throat as his eyes moved dizzily, 'I didn't know that he'd. That. Run _away_.'

'Did you ask?' Ruki said from between gritted teeth, 'Did you even _try_ to find out, or did you just take what he was offering you and keep your mouth shut?'

'I...but—'

Surprising himself, Ruki pulled his hand back and hit Toshiya sharply across the face.

There was a fuzzy sort of silence, and Toshiya raised a hand slowly to his cheek.

'Hey—'

'Aoi could be dead,' Ruki said raggedly, 'And if he's dead, you killed him. Do you understand that? Do you understand _any_ of this, you fucking – junkie – _scum_? _Do_ you?'

'I get it,' Toshiya said quietly, and he pressed his shaking hand against his cheek.

Ruki pulled himself upright, fists clenched by his sides.

He looked at Toshiya, and he knew in that moment that he hated him.

'Hey,' Toshiya said, sounding horribly fearful, 'Where – where're you going?'

Halfway to the door, Ruki turned.

'I'm going,' he said, his voice slow and dangerous, 'To call Die. I'm going to talk to him, because I don't want to waste another _second_ talking to you when you're – fucked up like this.'

'Ruki,' Toshiya said, something heartbreaking in his voice, and Ruki paused.

'What?'

He thought Toshiya's face might have been the most pitiful thing he'd ever seen.

'Don't tell him what I did,' he whispered, and Ruki closed the door on him.

 

Out in the corridor, it was strange how normal things felt. Bizarre enough that the sun had set on time; stranger still that now the sanatorium was its usual quiet, orderly self, back in its well-run routine even though such a huge part of it was missing. Like a person walking, Ruki thought in a scattered sort of way, like a person walking forward and stepping on a mine, getting a leg blown off but keeping going, keeping on marching forward...

The nurse with the perm sat at the desk in the nurses' station, lit sweetly luminous by a yellow pool of light; she gave Ruki a gentle smile.

'You should be in bed,' she said gently. 'Is everything all right?'

'Yeah. I just...I wanted to call Die. Just...you know. To see if Aoi showed up there, or anything. I know you must have his parents' phone number in a file or something, so—'

The look she gave him was kind enough to shut him up.

'I'm so sorry,' she said softly. 'But it's the storm, you see. We didn't realise until this morning, but the phone lines have been down since...oh, yesterday afternoon, yesterday evening. So I'm afraid you can't call anybody right now, but of course, the telephone company is working hard to get it fixed as quickly as they can.'

'I can't call,' Ruki repeated dully.

'Yes, that's right.'

'And...so I guess if Die tried to call here, that wouldn't get through, either?'

The nurse looked faintly uncertain, now, perhaps trying to figure out if his steadfast dullness was an act or not.

'That's right,' she said carefully. 'No calls have been able to come in or out. Does that make sense?'

'Yeah,' Ruki said quietly. 'I understand.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!
> 
> I was supposed to be seeing Dir en grey tonight, but on Monday I had to have an operation*, so I'm recovering. This sucks so much I don't know what to do! 
> 
> *a very routine operation; I'm not dying


	53. Chapter 53

Eiji didn't come.

The days passed, and the weather settled, and the telephone lines were restored and the roads freshly ploughed but still Eiji didn't come.

Ruki was surprised at how okay it felt. Each day he woke up with a faint rattle of nerves, wondering if today might be the day he showed up, and unsure of how prepared he was – he always showered and dressed himself in a hurry, heaving himself into the bathroom as soon as his eyes opened in the morning, so he wouldn't be caught looking a mess – but the feeling generally died down by the time lunch was over. The afternoon would settle into a wintery slump, and Ruki would put a record on and draw or put a record on and watch the rain, or the snow, or he would sit quietly in an armchair and watch the air and try to put his thoughts into some kind of order. He alternated: watch the air, think about something he felt unsure about, and then watch the air a little more.

As if its backbone was now truly gone, the sanatorium routine never did get back to normal. Meals came on time, but the rules seemed to have softened so much as to melt out of shape: nobody got told off for sitting on the floor any more, or for playing music too loudly, or for sitting too closely together. People drifted in and out of the bathroom without bothering to note their names on the sheet, went to bed when they felt like it; the group therapist didn't show up for her usual session and the musical instrument cage was left unlocked.

Ruki thought that the doctors and nurses and orderlies could feel it just as well as they could: that things were starting to collapse, now. The weather would get warmer and as the snow would dissolve, the sanatorium would go with it. In one great thaw, the whole mountain would wash down in a gigantic river of mud and chunks of ice and asylum detritus, plastic trays and pill bottles and hypodermics and hot water bottles the colour and texture of inflamed skin. Flow away, to where all the lost things flowed. Wash up one day, perhaps, on some distant shore.

 

On a rainy day in mid-January, Ruki alternately drew and watched the grey shape of the sky as it revolved, slowly, around its central axis. When the nurse gently touched him on the shoulder and informed him there was a phone call for him, he didn't jump. The fierce, rolling sea inside him seemed to have frozen over for the while, matching the season: all he felt was a kind of paralysed calm.

He sat himself on the worn wooden seat in the phone booth, waiting idly for the nurse to patch the call through. He thought about lighting a cigarette, but decided against it: too much hassle, and he'd been smoking too much recently. He heard the faint beeps down the line, and rested his head back against the phone booth wall.

'Hi, Eiji.'

'Kid. How are you?'

Ruki shrugged, even though he couldn't be seen. 'Fine,' he said, because it was easier.

'Great – that's really great, kid. Listen, I'm really sorry I didn't call earlier. I know we kind of left things hanging as to when I'd be back—'

'No,' Ruki interrupted dully, 'You said a week. I remember.'

There was a short pause from down the line.

'I don't know if we were that concrete about it,' Eiji said, and Ruki smiled, hearing the careful note in his voice, 'I mean...it's a long way getting out to you, right, and it's a busy time of year, so...' he let the end of his sentence fade off. 'But I wanted to come; as soon as I left I wanted to come back and see you, kid, I swear it. I've missed you. I've _really_ missed you...'

Ruki's finger found the rotary dial, and gently he turned it until Eiji's voice started warping and fading. Then, he pushed a fraction too far, and it cut out all together. He enjoyed the silence for a moment, and then let the dial spin back into place.

'...So Monday's no good, but I think on Tuesday I could maybe—'

'It's okay,' Ruki said, and then blinked, surprised at himself. There was a discomfited sort of silence from the other end of the phone, pitched slightly by Eiji's breathing, and Ruki thought about that tiny sound of that breath being broken down into frequency, travelling miles and miles across the land and up the mountains to drill itself into his ear here.

'Tuesday's okay, you mean?'

'No, I mean...maybe you shouldn't bother coming. You're busy, and it's a long way.'

'...But I want to see you, kid.'

'I'm actually kind of busy, too,' Ruki said vaguely. 'I'm making a lot for the exhibition, so...'

'That's not until _summer_.'

He shrugged again, the phone pressing painfully against his ear. 'I want to be ready.'

'Ruki...' there was a soft sigh, 'Look, I get it, all right?'

'Get it,' Ruki repeated, turning the words over.

'I get that you're mad. You know I would have come if I could; you know that. Kid, I love you. There is no way I'm gonna leave you in that place to rot, okay? I'm going to get you out, I promise.'

The urge to giggle bubbled up in his throat almost irresistibly, and Ruki swallowed it down: god, what was _wrong_ with him?

'I'm not angry,' he said instead in a strangled sort of voice.

'Kid. It's okay. Maybe...look, I was kind of nervous to come up and see you, okay? I care about you so much, and I thought that if you said no...I couldn't stand it.'

'Plus the roads,' Ruki said fairly, 'Being blocked.'

'Yes!' Eiji agreed, a slight note of breathy relief in his voice.

'Right.'

Pause.

'Eiji, I kind of have to go soon.'

'But I can come and see you really soon, kid. This week, I'll come and I'll...I'll take you out! We can drive down to the city and have dinner, and if you don't want to go back, then you don't have to. We can drive back to Osaka, if you want to.'

'I'm sort of busy,' Ruki said again, and Eiji sighed.

'Kid. Look. What's it going to take, huh? What do I need to do to...win you back?'

Ruki swallowed. 'I don't know,' he said honestly.

'But I love you, and you love me. What's the point in all this?'

Ruki bit his lip.

'I don't know,' he admitted.

'Are you sad, or angry with me, or both? Ruki, help me out here. Help me understand you. I want you; I want to be with you, and I know you want to be with me, so...just make it easy for me, okay, kid?'

Ruki closed his eyes.

He felt suddenly exhausted, his whole body limp and cold, and he was aware that he had begun to shiver.

'Kid?'

'I don't want you,' Ruki whispered. And he put the phone down.

 

He hadn't been on the phone for long. Mechanically he walked into to his room and then stopped in the very centre of it; allowed himself a small spell of gazing out at the rain, judging its heaviness. It wasn't coming down too hard, he decided. He was still shaking, but he thought it might stop soon.

As though that was what he'd come into his dorm for, he turned and left, following the path his feet took him. He wasn't at all surprised when he found himself in front of Kyo's door, and he didn't feel nervous as he knocked. He knew, innately, that the other man would be in there; that he would be in there alone. He didn't know how he could possibly be so sure, but when he leant tentatively against the feeling, it seemed strong enough to take his weight, and he let it support him.

Kyo opened the door, and took a slow step backwards.

'Hi.'

'Hi.' Ruki smiled at him. 'Can I come in?'

Kyo gave a single nod, and closed the door behind him. Carefully, like a considerate guest, Ruki sat himself down on Kyo's bed and tucked his bare feet up neatly beside him.

'You're shivering.'

'Yeah.'

Kyo looked at him for a moment, and then bent to retrieve a cast-off sweater: asylum-issue, grey knit, one of the elbows starting to wear out. Instead of holding it out, he balled it up and tossed it limply into Ruki's lap.

'Put that on if you want,' he muttered, gazing fixedly out of the window.

Gently, Ruki allowed his fingers to fold themselves into the soft bundle of fabric.

'It smells like you,' he said. Kyo's face was still sharply angled away, but he thought he saw it: a hint of warmish colour rising in his cheeks.

'Sorry,' he said stiffly. 'You don't have to—'

'No, it smells nice.'

Kyo's look at him then was quick and hard, as though he was checking for a trick.

'Put it on, then,' he said gruffly.

'If they let me have a needle,' Ruki said, testing the wear in the elbow with his fingers, 'I could fix this for you.'

He glanced up, and found Kyo looking at him with his eyebrows raised, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He smiled, and brusquely, Kyo picked up the sweater, shook it out, and pulled it over Ruki's head. It bundled awkwardly around his neck, and he sat still and malleable as Kyo patiently helped his arms through the sleeves, tugged down on the hem and smoothed it over his shoulders.

Something like a dull heat raced through Ruki's body and he smiled; tested that, too, leant against that, too; found it was also strong enough to hold him up.

'Nobody's ever done that.'

'What?' Kyo asked a little aggressively.

' _Dressed_ me.' Experimentally, he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, smoothed the fabric over his chest and breathed in the smell of somebody else. 'Not since I was a kid. It's funny.'

'You were cold.'

Ruki shook his head. 'Yeah, but nobody ever cares about that. You think Eiji would have ever stopped trying to pull my clothes off if I said I was cold?'

Kyo stood still, not saying anything, but it was unmistakeable: another slow flush was rising in his cheeks, and this one didn't look likely to fade. Ruki bit his lower lip gently. 'Will you sit down?'

Kyo did, a little stiffly, and placed his hands flat on the bed.

'Does it suit me?' Ruki asked lightly, holding his arms out, and Kyo gave him a suspicious look.

'It's theirs,' he said gruffly, 'You have one exactly the same.'

'I know, but this one. Your one. Does it suit me?'

Kyo was quiet for a moment.

'Yeah,' he said finally.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, Ruki reached out and took Kyo's hand in his own. Holding it, he became aware all over again of how much bigger it was, all the shapes different; incredible, how much variation there could be in something that was, on paper, so similar. They didn't look like hands that had been built to be gentle – too big, too strong, too angular – but that was what they had chosen to be anyway; that was the only way Ruki had experienced them.

It occurred to him, clear and unarguable as a thought in a dream, that he wanted those hands to touch him. He wanted them all over. The thought might – _should_ – have been a stressful one, but at that moment it felt strangely clear and uncomplicated. Actually, it made him want to smile.

'I wanted to talk to you about getting out,' he said, and Kyo gave another slow, single nod, apparently pulling his thoughts together.

'Do you know what you'll do after the exhibition?'

'Not me; you. _You_ getting out.'

It sort of hurt, the double-take Kyo did then. Like he was sure that Ruki was having him on, somehow.

'Yeah, okay,' he said finally, his voice flat. 'What about it?'

'Well...' Ruki pulled the sweater firmer around him, gaining a strange confidence from its familiar scent, 'Everything's kind of going to shit around here, yeah?'

'Correct.'

'So things will probably be shutting down soon. I mean, it's not as if they're replacing the people who leave...'

There was a painful sort of pause as Aoi's name went unsaid between them, but in the end Kyo just nodded again.

'So it's going to shut,' Ruki proceeded diligently, 'And I think...I just – I wanted to know what you're going to do.'

Kyo gave a rough shrug.

'I suppose it depends where they send me.'

'No, I mean that I think you'll get out. Really out, I mean. You know. Free.'

The silence then was very, very long, but Ruki made himself hold it.

'Fat chance,' Kyo said finally.

'I don't think it is,' Ruki said, choosing his words and his tone very carefully.

'Why's that,' Kyo said, not bothering to add the question mark.

'Because – you aren't crazy.'

'Hasn't made a difference so far.'

'Yeah, but it'll be different this time, won't it? It'll be an independent assessment, right? All you need is your doctor to recommend you for release, and then it goes to a board, yeah?'

'True,' Kyo said guardedly.

'So...haven't you at least thought about it?'

Kyo did a sigh that sounded like something was deflating.

'One,' he said in a flat voice, 'Nobody is willing to recommend me for release, in case I go mad again. Two, any board discussing it is going to have my file in front of them, in which case they'll have to decide to let two murders go by the wayside. And three...'

He foundered suddenly, looking uncertain.

'Three,' he mumbled, quieter, 'I don't know that I want to get out.'

' _What_?'

'Think about it,' Kyo said slowly, staring fixedly at the wall opposite them. 'I don't know anything about the world, and I don't have any skills.'

'You have skills,' Ruki said, perhaps a little too emphatically, because Kyo gave him a soft smile that seemed almost sorry.

'I don't even have my elementary school certificate,' he said gently, 'Let alone high school.'

'So that's what we do first,' Ruki said doggedly. 'You can do those things long-distance. We can do it here.'

'We,' Kyo repeated, a little sourly, and Ruki firmed his lips.

'I'll help you,' he said.

'Yeah, okay.'

'I mean it! We can send off for the materials, and if you need to study for any of it, then I'll help you. With what I remember, I mean,' he added hastily, 'We'll probably need to look some things up.'

The look Kyo gave him then was half weariness, half amusement.

'And then?' he said in his deep, hoarse voice, 'I get my certificates, and I get let out, and then...?'

'Then you start a new life,' Ruki said, and hesitated. 'And since you don't really know anywhere, or – or anyone – then I think that you should probably think about doing that in Osaka.' He swallowed nervously. 'With me.'

 

In the silence that followed, Ruki lit a cigarette, and Kyo stared at the wall as if shell-shocked. His brow was knit into a thoughtful frown, his mouth sort of firmed at the corners, as if he had decided to take a stand against something.

He was, Ruki thought, not the most gorgeous person he had ever seen. You could pick apart every feature of his face and find something wrong with it; you could find more to fault still in his behaviour – his reluctance to smile; the awkward way he held himself; the way he either never met your eye or else met it for too long, holding the contact almost unbearably – but somehow, it didn't matter. Somehow, those things only seemed to make him seem more beautiful, and something about that thought touched Ruki deeply, because he was aware that he was perhaps the only one who would think so. He had seen the way people looked at Kyo; the fearful, distrustful, narrow-eyed looks; the sliding glances. And it would be easy – _so_ easy – to dismiss his taciturnity as sullenness, or humourlessness; dismiss it, and disregard him.

Didn't anybody else see how undefended he was?

That he was floating around on this planet entirely alone?

That he might, in fact, have simply been scared?

Kyo probably had no idea why Ruki smiled at him so warmly. It must have caught him off guard, though, that smile, because before he could stop himself, he returned it.

 

The next few weeks were an experiment.

They were an experiment in not thinking about Eiji.

What was strange was that, after the first few days, it wasn't even that hard.

The first night was awful. Despite the strange sort of glow that seemed to have lodged itself in Ruki's chest since Kyo had shot him – _gifted_ him, he couldn't help but think of it – that wonderful smile, the moment he laid himself down to sleep he felt a great, crushing wave of paranoia break over him, and he lay rigidly beneath his blankets feeling cold sweat creeping down his neck and forehead: could he really have said that to Eiji? And what was going to happen now?

Would they really never see each other again?

It didn't feel sad so much as unsettling. Without him ever realising it, it seemed that Eiji had been some kind of huge mass that kept his mind weighed down: without him his thoughts became active and dreamy, liable to fly away and float out towards the open air and the damp grey skies.

He cried that first night, but in a quiet way, gulping his loss into his pillow. His tears felt chilly and faintly unreal, blotting into his pillowcase; or maybe it was the weirdly textureless fabric of the bed linen that was making them feel fake. In any case, they stopped more quickly than he would have expected, cutting themselves off roughly at his throat.

He turned uncertainly onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. It seemed a long way up.

It grew later, and colder. His face felt stiff with salt where his tears had long since evaporated, and he stared dry-eyed up at the ceiling, his mind working hard enough to make him feel warm.

He wondered where Eiji was. Where Aoi was. He wondered what Die and Uruha were doing; how Kai would feel if he could see any of this; if there was any part of him that might be living somewhere, a fine flying soul, like a sun-coloured myth.

He thought about Hiroshi. He thought about the isolation room. He thought about darkness, and Toshiya's glazed dark eyes, and he thought about drawing and painting and the polished floors and blank white walls of exhibition spaces.

Most of all he thought about Kyo.

 

He wondered if he was still awake, and what he might be thinking about if he was. He wondered if he was staring up at the ceiling, or curled up on his side gazing at the wall, or if he was perhaps sitting on his bed in that familiar way he had, slouched right down so all his weight rested on his lower back, his steady, thoughtful face gazing out at the skeleton of a moon that was visible through the passing clouds.

Because it was so late, and because nobody was able to see inside of his head, he allowed himself a short fantasy. He was so sleepy that the whole thing felt dreamlike, almost sepia-toned, but even when he woke up the next day he would find himself hard-pressed to describe exactly why his little vision had moved him so much.

He pictured the two of them in a bar; that was all. He imagined himself sitting with Kyo in the little dive of a hangout, popular with students, that sat not far from Ruki's side of campus. It would be autumn, and dry zelkova leaves would be rattling loosely around the street in the breeze, and the air outside would be crisp and chill. They would sit in a booth – one of those scarred, ancient wooden booths tucked into the corner by the window – and the windows would be steamed up by all the body heat inside, and perhaps they might be joined by some people. Perhaps they might be joined by some of the friends Ruki had managed to make before it had all gone so wrong, and before they had all fallen away.

They would sit opposite them, too many bodies crammed into the booth, and Kyo would gaze uncomfortably down into his drink until Ruki introduced him, at which point he would hesitantly raise his head.

Blink in the sudden light.

In the bed opposite his, Toshiya stretched out restlessly and gave a small sigh. Ruki peered at him from almost-closed eyes; saw just enough to see Toshiya's own open eyes glinting softly where they caught the scant moonlight.

He had been lying awake for a lot of nights, recently.

As if it was trying to tell him something, Kyo's luminous gaze hovered in front of his in the gloom, and Ruki allowed himself to get lost in it: those eyes, looking up, slowly taking in the faces all around.

Opening his mouth, and speaking. And being listened to, and for the moment, holding himself upright in his own tiny corner of the outside world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit hurriedly written, but I felt so bad about abandoning this fic for so long! Thank you, thank you, everybody who is still reading. We can at least glimpse the ending on the horizon now!


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for this chapter.

He might have been a statue, balanced the way he was in that threadbare armchair, with his dark glassy eyes staring straight through the television set; a statue or something worse, something waxen, rubbery; a sad little sex doll propped up in a state of disrepair: ragged clothes, matted hair.

Looking at him gave Ruki an eerie sort of feeling, a prickle up the back of his neck as if he'd seen a ghost. It was a feeling like deja vu; like watching footage of your own self as a baby and trying to understand how the person on the screen both is and isn't you, or watching a much-loved official's coffin reappear on the evening news after you just spent the day watching it being buried.

 _I am standing in a room_ , Ruki told himself distantly, _with the actual, real Aoi. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, and there are holes in the knees of his jeans. He's slouched right down with his legs spread, and one of his sweater cuffs is starting to unravel_.

He had the guilty thought that it felt distinctly unwholesome to be looking at him. It felt as though he was back from the dead, not supposed to be here; a blot on the room, or a stain.

But that thought only stayed for a second before it was washed away by a fierce wave of protectiveness and love and guilt, physical as a kick in the stomach; Aoi had travelled so far away from them, and for so long, and he sat in front of them now looking so tired and starved and small, and nobody had been around to witness his return. He'd been entirely alone.

Kyo was holed up writing in his room and Toshiya was taking one of his marathon afternoon naps, and so the welcome committee now was made of Ruki and Shinya only; a pathetic-feeling pairing, what with Shinya's dazed indifference and Ruki's sudden speechlessness. It didn't seem as though Aoi had expected anything better, though. When they walked in he didn't bother to look up at them, and it was with a faint unease that Ruki sat himself carefully down on the floor before him. It was the only perspective from which he could look up and meet his friend's eyes.

'You're back,' he said pointlessly.

There was a long pause.

'So it would seem,' Aoi said finally.

'Where did you go?'

Had it always taken Aoi so long to formulate answers to questions? He seemed to be rolling the words around his mouth, tasting them for their sourness.

'Around,' he said at last, and coughed roughly into his hand.

'But you...' Ruki hesitated, feeling horribly uncertain, 'Did you find Die? Or Uruha?'

'No.'

Silence.

'Die couldn't call,' Ruki said in a rush, suddenly remembering, 'That night – the night you – there was a storm, remember? It knocked out the phone lines; nobody could get through.' He waited a moment, biting his lip, as if that might perk Aoi up. 'I knew he would have called,' he added lamely. 'He wouldn't have forgotten about you, or anything.'

Aoi looked _dirty_ , Ruki thought, surprising himself with the hint of actual revulsion he felt. Every one of his fingernails was rimmed with black, and his hands and lips were chapped, his clothes were all dull with dust and grime and his hair was matted enough to stand away from his skin in places.

He had a sudden and very clear image of Die brushing that hair – of how gentle he'd been, brushing it until it shone; of how Aoi's face had relaxed and his eyes had fallen closed – and the sadness he felt was close to grief, as if something had passed out of existence.

It occurred to him abruptly that everything that had happened to Aoi had been incredibly unfair. That in sticking his head out far enough to be their spiky one, their trickster, their protector, all Aoi had really done was invite for himself a harsh hammering down, maybe even hard enough to crush him flat.

That both of the people Aoi had really, truly loved were free, whilst somehow he was the one left behind. It seemed almost a matter of physics, of some kind of matter-of-fact obstruction: as if Aoi had stood by the side of a wall and helped to boost both Uruha and Die over it, and now he was stuck on the wrong side with nobody left who was strong enough to boost him.

If any of this crossed Aoi's mind though, he didn't show it; neither did he seem moved by anything Ruki was saying, but simply allowed his gaze to slip away and refocus itself on the window. It was raining again, and it looked very cold.

'You should take a shower,' Ruki said carefully, 'Get changed into some clean clothes. You'll feel better.'

He waited, biting his lip.

'You should have called, Aoi,' he said next, softer. 'You should have found a way. We thought...I didn't know if...'

He trailed off, but Aoi just blinked wearily. When he moved Ruki jumped expectantly, but he was only lighting a cigarette. When he exhaled the first grey lungful, it smelled like he looked: stale and tired.

'Do you want to sleep?' Ruki asked, his voice lamer and less confident now, 'Or eat something, or – do you want to call Die, or Uruha?'

Beneath the scrubby beard growth, Aoi's lips didn't even twitch. He was still enough for the white bars in the window to be reflected in his dark eyes, and when Ruki dared to press closer he saw his own self reflected there too, his own pale face mirrored back at him, obscuring whatever lay beyond.

 _If_ anything lay beyond.

He remembered the Aoi that had grinned so easily into Die's face; the man who had slid their bodies close together, his smile showing teeth, teasing, seductive, with the confidence of somebody who knew that he was beautiful, and that he was admired, and that he was loved and needed. He remembered him dancing; remembered his thin white foot cradled carefully in Die's hands as he hung balloons from the ceiling; he remembered him with Uruha, holding him tight through his violent and unpredictable sorrow. Holding him even after it would have been safe to let go, and gently stroking his hair.

Maybe the man in the armchair was an imposter.

 

Over the following days there were changes, although only on the surface: one or another of the nurses had obviously bulled Aoi into having a wash, and somebody had given him clean clothes to wear and shaved his face. Mysteriously, his hair remained knotted and tangled, and Ruki couldn't figure out why until Aoi appeared at lunch one day with it sharply chopped off at shoulder length. He seemed unused to the new lightness and silkiness of it; Ruki noticed him flinching a couple of times when he bent and it slipped forward around his face. He remained almost silent, speaking only when spoken to and allowing most questions to go unanswered, and when Ruki asked the nurses all they'd been able to tell him was that Aoi had been picked up by the police sleeping rough in a roadside service station just outside of Shibata, up in Niigata prefecture.

He couldn't puzzle what Aoi might have been doing there, and there was nobody he could ask. He had felt so sure that Aoi would have travelled towards Die in Mie or Uruha in Kanagawa that to find out otherwise felt disorienting, as if he had all of a sudden prised off a mask that revealed him to be a total sham.

January rolled into February, the days turned wetter and wetter, the hills around the sanatorium started to look more mottled and quietly, without fanfare, Ruki turned twenty-three. He placed a call to his parents, who took it in turns at the telephone to say essentially the same things to him; that they hoped he had a happy birthday, that they hoped this would be a better year for him, and that they hoped to be able to see him soon.

He didn't tell anybody else about his birthday. It occurred to him as completely bizarre that he should be ageing; getting older than even Hiroshi had ever been. After twenty-one he should have turned twenty-two, and then after twenty-two, twenty-one.

But it wasn't just the thought of his brother that made him feel confused and miserable. In the asylum time warped and went sour, behaved in strange ways; inside the institutional walls weeks turned to months and months to years; whole days compressed themselves into seconds; the hands on the clocks shimmered and jumped. Outside his parents were ageing, and Eiji would already have turned forty-eight, and the friends he'd briefly managed to make at university would have graduated and started their lives. Inside, everybody was stuck.

On his last birthday, Ruki remembered, he hadn't done anything, but the day after – when Eiji was free – he'd gone over to his mentor's apartment for the evening and had sat up with him, drinking unaccustomed red wine. He'd gotten truly drunk, wrapped up in a blanket in front of the dead, empty fireplace that Eiji never used. Later they'd had sex there, with Ruki's knees and face pressed hard against the wooden floor.

He wished he could crawl inside that memory.

 

'All I remember about this,' Ruki found himself saying nervously, 'Is that it all has to come out...even.'

It was a grey, rainy morning in early February, and from where he'd been bent over his notebook, Kyo straightened up and gave Ruki a flat sort of look.

'All the ingredients,' Ruki explained hastily, 'I mean – not _ingredients_ – you know. Everything that goes in...' he shook his head, flustered, 'The atoms, I mean. You need to have the same amount of atoms on each side. So the same amount of atoms that go in come out. So on this one there's...potassium and water...which makes...'

He paused, biting his lip. 'Pass me the book.'

'Potassium hydroxide,' Kyo said, so quietly Ruki might have imagined it, 'And hydrogen gas.'

For a moment the two of them just looked at each other.

'Alkali metals,' Kyo reminded him, and Ruki gave a sheepish sort of smile.

'Oh, yeah. I remember doing it in science. When you drop the potassium in the water it sort of burns up purple. Then as you go down the metals, the reaction gets more violent.'

'Right.'

Uncharacteristically, Kyo grinned at him. It had the effect of transforming his whole face, making him look much younger than Ruki had ever experienced him; younger even than he had looked as a fifteen-year-old, haunted and blank. Carefully, he leant forward and started to write down the equation, his fingers still crooking around his pen in that awkward-looking way, though his actual writing was, if not neat, then light and fluid.

'You don't have to play dumb,' he murmured, leaning closer to the page so Ruki couldn't see his face. 'I know you know this.'

Ruki felt his face flush with a quick warmth. 'Huh?' he said intelligently.

Kyo simply looked at him, a soft remnant of his smile still on his face, and Ruki avoided his eyes. He could feel his palms prickling with sweat, and he wiped them off on his knees.

'That looks right,' he said almost casually, his cheeks burning. 'So the next one...'

Deftly he turned the page, letting his eyes blur over the practice questions with their cramped barbed wire snares of numbers and Roman letters. It was _weird_ , what Kyo knew and didn't know: his knowledge of kanji was better than Ruki had dared hope, though he drew them strangely – the strokes made all out of their proper order, according to some strange internal logic – but his mathematics had started out uncomfortably poor, with Ruki struggling to explain long division and Kyo looking vexed with himself. It was painfully obvious how much of life he had observed through books and television: he had a reasonable knowledge of the world around him but had no concept of how small Japan was in the middle of it all; he had no idea that people had ever ventured up to the moon, and when Ruki referenced watching it on television Kyo had given him a decidedly suspicious look.

It was strangely humbling, in a way, to realise just how much of the world sat at the very limits of belief. Placed around a table within the confines of the asylum, who could prove that even a speck of it was real? Education, it occurred to Ruki, assumed and operated on a great deal of blind faith.

The other thing that surprised Ruki was how much fun he was having. There were no rules forbidding it, but he had a feeling that there was something distinctly taboo about what they were doing – maybe even about them spending so much time together, and he thought he knew why, too. The fact was, during their tutoring sessions, Ruki didn't really feel as though he was in the asylum any more. It was as if the two of them had managed to slip into some kind of other world together, something that they'd built between them; somewhere with light, and fresh air, and space. It felt as though they were getting away with something, playing at being revolutionaries right under the nose of the regime, and although the idea of having a world of their own was just a stupid fantasy, withdrawing into it gave Ruki a new and peculiar strength. It enabled him to smile blandly into the face of the head nurse and the orderlies, armoured him against his feverish nightmares of Kai's bloated, greying face; when they were together and he thought of Eiji it was with an increasing faintness and distance, as if he had somehow wandered out of his range, and the signal couldn't get through any more.

There was only one thing that could rip Ruki away from the comfort of his new world, and that was Aoi. Because he wasn't getting better.

 

'Hey, you want a cigarette?'

Toshiya's voice was almost maniacally upbeat, and Ruki saw him wave a pack of Philip Morris hopefully under Aoi's nose.

'I know you usually smoke Marlboro,' he continued bravely, heaving another armchair up close to Aoi's and throwing himself down in it. 'Menthols. But one tastes just as bad as another, right? Here.'

He shoved the pack under Aoi's nose again, and when the other man made no move to take one, Toshiya shrugged and stuck one between his own lips. Carefully he lit up, then took it out of his mouth and offered it. 'You want it?'

No response. A slight crease appeared in Toshiya's brow, and he took a deep drag from the cigarette himself, but he placed the pack and his lighter carefully on the arm of his chair – well within reach if Aoi changed his mind.

'You're probably right,' he said lightly, 'It's better to smoke less. D'you think you're addicted? To tobacco, I mean?' he glanced quickly into Aoi's face. 'I am. But you know, it's weird. I never really smoked, but I always used to roll joints with tobacco, and then I started craving just normal cigarettes.' He shrugged, took another drag, and wrinkled his nose. 'They don't even taste good,' he said a little wistfully.

He seemed to be at a loss for a few minutes; he drummed his fingers agitatedly on the seat of his chair.

'It's Tuesday. I think it's two o'clock – nearly two o'clock. It's raining,' he announced, speaking slower now. 'I like it when it rains. It reminds me of being a kid. My family always lived in a mountainous area, and the winters lasted so long. At the beginning of the season you'd be excited for the snow to come, but it went on for so long you'd start to feel frustrated by it – getting snowed in and struggling to walk anywhere, and being so cold, and then wearing heavy clothes and sweating inside them...' he bit his lower lip. 'But when it started to rain, you knew it was the end of winter, and that the snow would start to melt soon. It always looked so dirty when it did...there was a layer of, I guess ice, under the snow, and it was muddy from the ground, and when it thawed it would always crack—' he gestured with his hands, drawing a line in cigarette smoke in the air '—and all this brown water would flow through town, right down the high street.'

He bit his lip again. 'But at least it'd be spring again. As an adult, I don't really like winter so much. I like spring. My birthday is in March, so it makes sense, right?'

Another quick, almost furtive glance at Aoi's impassive face. 'Do you have a favourite season?'

Tiredly, Aoi turned his eyes towards Toshiya's, and his shoulders performed a small twitch that could just barely have passed as a shrug.

Ruki watched Toshiya try not to look too pleased.

'I really like summer, too,' he blurted. 'I like it when the weather is too hot. It feels like the air changes. Like I can move through it more smoothly. And it reminds me of having friends from school over, and sleeping out on mats on the veranda...' he smiled. 'The house where I grew up had a great veranda. In the autumn it used to get covered in beech nuts, and then dead leaves...'

Gradually, Toshiya's inane babble faded out and became background noise. Ruki could still see the way he gesticulated, and the sad hopefulness of his expression, but his words began to run together and blend with the sound of the television. Some kind of talkshow was on, but Ruki didn't recognise either the interviewer or the interviewee. Their conversation was almost indecipherable and faintly annoying, like hearing the sound of a tennis ball being batted continuously back and forth with no variation. His vision stung and then blurred. He got heavily to his feet and shuffled back into his own dorm room, where he closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed, pulled his pillow into his lap and squeezed it hard as he cried.

He wished he knew why life had to be so confusing. How was it possible that he could still be experiencing joy in his life, still be looking forward to things, when Aoi was so lost?

And why did they have to find Aoi, anyway? Ruki thought resentfully. Why did they have to bring him back? Couldn't they just have left him alone?

His fingernails bit harder into the fabric of the pillow, and he felt a wave of such pure guilt that it sickened him; light-headed, he folded weakly at the waist. Was he really that cold-hearted? Was it true that worrying about Aoi in an abstract, unknowing way was better than worrying about the reality of him?

He felt disgusted with himself. He felt rotten in the way an apple went rotten: normal on the surface and mottled black on the inside, like a disease.

The worst part was that if he was totally honest – if he was _brave_ enough to be totally honest – he would have to admit that he felt almost angry with Aoi. Not just for getting into the state that he was in, but for letting himself get caught – for coming back to ruin the happy place Ruki had crafted for himself.

A nurse popped her head around the door and said something that Ruki didn't catch, though the shapes her mouth made had a weird familiarity: dry-eyed he nodded just to get rid of her, his insides burning with something close to hatred.

Maybe he really was sick enough to be kept here forever.

Maybe he had always just assumed that he was taken here for trying to kill himself, but instead it was some deeper, darker sort of disease – a kind of deficiency of the soul, something maimed inside of him.

He thought of how much Aoi had done for him; the care he had taken with him, compared to how Ruki was treating him now.

Maybe he didn't have a soul at all.

In that moment he understood exactly how somebody's mind could completely shatter. He understood how possible it was that he was the sickest in the building, the rotten fruit that spoils all the other fruit; how he hadn't deserved friends like them; how he'd been so mean to Toshiya under the excuse of caring about Aoi, and that now it had turned out that Toshiya was the only one of the two of them who had cared enough to keep trying with him.

When Eiji appeared, Ruki assumed he was a figment of his imagination. It took him almost half a minute to backtrack to the shapes and sounds that the nurse's mouth had been making, and to realise that she had been telling him of a visitor – asking if he was happy to see Eiji Okada despite the lack of warning.

Ruki sat up a little straighter, and loosened his hold on the pillow.

'You,' he said softly.

 

The room was so quiet that when Ruki swallowed, the click of his own throat seemed deafening inside his ears. He got haltingly to his feet as Eiji closed the door behind him, and gently Ruki touched him, just to make sure he was real. Eiji smiled, showing the crooked front tooth that Ruki had always adored.

'Hey, kid,' he said softly, and something inside of Ruki collapsed. It felt so sudden and physical that he actually felt the strength drop from his body; felt it as his spine caved in and let him fall against his old mentor's body, clutching at it like a drowning man. His legs could barely support him, so he dragged the two of them backward, let himself fall upon the bed. He felt a careful hand stroke his cheek, and closed his eyes.

It was more than he possibly could have dreamed for himself in that moment: somebody to take care of him; somebody it would be impossible for him to taint.

'Kid,' Eiji said again, whispering it, and Ruki clutched him close. Blindly he butted his head up, knowing how to play their old game without even having to think about it: initiating the kiss and then backing off, appearing reluctant so that Eiji could take charge, could push him down against the bed and force him. Be weak, so that he could be overpowered. He slid his T-shirt up a few inches over his belly and allowed Eiji to drag it the rest of the way up, curling one self-conscious arm around his bare stomach.

'What's gotten into you, kid?' said a soft smoker's voice in his ear, hot breath against his neck, 'Been missing me?'

Ruki made a noise that might have been assent, and Eiji suddenly hovered over him, smiling wickedly down into his face. 'It better be that,' he teased, 'And not just you being incurably horny from being locked up all these months.' He bit suddenly at Ruki's neck, nuzzling him, 'You touch yourself in here, kid?' he whispered hotly.

'Yeah.'

Eiji made a soft groaning noise, disorientingly familiar to Ruki's ears. His vision washed over and when he blinked tears away it seemed to have shifted; he was still in his body but his perspective seemed to have changed, as if he was watching them from above. He watched his own pale hand grasp Eiji's wrist and guide it between his legs, and he watched his own back arch, and he waited for his facial expression to change. He was relieved when Eiji grasped him by the hips and turned him over, so he could stare down at the mattress instead.

'You didn't mean what you said on the phone,' Eiji whispered in his ear, just a hint of doubt in his otherwise breathy voice, 'Did you, kid? You still want me, don't you?'

Ruki didn't say anything, but he lifted his hips up so that his pants could be slid down around his thighs. It seemed to be assent enough. By groping around sightlessly, he managed to grab the pillow from where it had fallen onto the floor and yank it back up onto the bed. He buried his face in it so that he wouldn't make any noise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like a chapter in which way too much happened. Apologies if it read super-awkwardly.


	55. Chapter 55

At length, Eiji got off him, and Ruki awkwardly pulled his clothes back into place. His mentor was breathing hard, and Ruki thought he might have been too, though he wasn't sure why: he was just having difficulty catching his breath; his lungs seemed to have crushed down to an inadequate size. He staggered into a sitting position, drawing his body into the corner where the bed met the wall and huddling there. He felt sore. Beneath his clothes, cum dripped down along his inner thigh, and he gripped his knees tightly. His hands looked small to him, and distant; he swallowed, but his mouth wouldn't stop filling over and over with thin saliva.

He heard Eiji grab both ends of his belt, and hesitate.

'You come, kid?' he asked, and Ruki made a soft noise in his throat that could have been interpreted as a yes. In his peripheral vision, he saw his old mentor continue to zip his pants and buckle his belt. He gave a gentle stretch, arching his body backwards pleasingly, and settled himself back on the bed. He hadn't removed his black turtleneck during what they'd done, and now he looked flushed and just a little damp around the temples.

Silently, Eiji lit a cigarette. He was gazing over at Toshiya's empty bed, and just for something to do Ruki matched his sight line: mattress, sheet, pillow, blanket. The knit of the blanket blurred and wavered, and he blinked rapidly.

'That was unexpected,' Eiji said finally. He leant his head back, blowing a perfect smoke ring towards the ceiling; with a lopsided smile, he leant forward and stuck his finger through it so that it broke and started to drift apart. 'Don't want it to die a virgin, right?'

Ruki's head hurt, and he clutched harder at his knees. There was a short silence.

'I guess that was pretty overwhelming,' Eiji said, quieter, and Ruki managed a short nod. A hand placed itself down on top of his own, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at it.

'Kid, it's all right. Honestly...' there was a smile in his voice, 'Honestly, I always kind of liked how spacey you go after sex. Like you're completely up in the clouds.' He paused. 'That – legal, doing that with you?'

Ruki blinked at him, and Eiji shrugged. 'While you're here, I mean.'

Ruki shrugged, and Eiji gave him a quick glance.

'Kid,' he said, sounding a little perturbed. 'You're crying.'

The room revolved dizzily around a fixed point, and Eiji's hand clapped him lightly on the shoulder. 'Kid, it'll be okay. We'll be back together soon. You don't need to get upset.'

'Bathroom,' Ruki croaked, and lurched unsteadily to his feet. He had gone peculiarly blind; he let himself walk by a kind of muscle memory, stumbling along the polished corridor and supporting himself with a clammy hand against the wall; his legs were weak, his lower half ached in a way that he thought might drive him crazy, and more cum ran down the inside of his leg. Eyes seemed to be everywhere: were they? Weren't they? There was no way to say if they were real; far too many pairs of eyes to be feasible, watching from every doorway, silent and disappointed spectators; Ruki cringed away from them through the bathroom door, dropped to his knees and waited.

Bile swirled uneasily in his stomach, and he inched closer to the toilet, pulling the door weakly closed behind him. His breaths were coming out in short, thin gulps; he felt they weren't getting as far down as his lungs, and his head spun. He gripped his own hair hard, dragging it back grimly into a knot at the back of his head.

It was his own reflection that did it. Eyes magnified, features distorted by the curve of the cistern, complexion grey, greasy with cold sweat. Ugly enough to hate.

He leant forwards and vomited into the toilet, his whole body convulsing in a huge, racking way that made him shiver. A freezing wind seemed to have permeated the wall and it was rattling his bones, banging his teeth together; the cum between his legs was getting cold and sticky; he retched again, and spat limply, and groped for the flush.

He lay down on his side, then, facing the wall. He tucked his legs up and hugged them to his body. He heard the rush of the pipes and his own deadly slow heartbeat.

This was what he deserved.

 

Later, after the sky had grown dark and the smell of institutional cooking – bland, boiled things, vegetables gone soft – had thickened and then thinned out again in the halls, Ruki lay in bed with his eyes screwed shut, pretending to be asleep.

Being sick had given him a good enough excuse to avoid dinner, and he'd spent the entire afternoon this way. Eiji had left him hours ago with a soft kiss on his clammy forehead; it had felt like a stamp. He'd showered, cranking the water up as hot as it could go, but he could still feel the older man's touch all over him, as if it had left some kind of sticky, slimy residue.

He felt small and quiet, and his head ached horribly. He thought it must have been around nine or ten o'clock. Over on the other bed, Toshiya sat with his legs crossed like a child, his eyes glazed over as he steadily ran a brush through his hair; it made a soothing sound. There was a familiar smell of smoke, and when Ruki dared to squint at him through his eyelashes, he saw a cigarette sticking out of the side of Toshiya's mouth. He was puffing on it without ever removing it, letting the smoke furl out of his nose like a dragon.

A weird memory occurred to him: Hiroshi, still well enough to sit up in a wheelchair, outside with him on a winter's day. How young had they been? Ruki's body in his memory felt clumsy and unpractised; Hiroshi's face was rounded and youthful. The air had been cold enough to turn their breaths to mist, and that's what Hiroshi had been doing with him: playing at being dragons. _Baby dragons that can't breathe fire yet_.

He snorted to himself sadly, and felt Toshiya's eyes land uncertainly on his face.

There was a silence in which Ruki shifted as if in sleep, rolling over so that Toshiya couldn't stare at him in that penetrating way. He heard a soft sigh.

'I know you're awake,' Toshiya said matter-of-factly, 'And I get it if you don't want to talk, but this is getting kind of stupid.'

There was a quiet in which Ruki heard his own pulse in his temples, making his headache wince like a fluorescent light; he heard Toshiya shift and settle on the bed, transfer his cigarette from one hand to the other and then finally stub it out and light a new one.

At last Toshiya said, 'I know you fucked him.'

Ruki opened his eyes and stared blankly at the wall. He felt weirdly calm, as though he had focussed his entire quota of strong emotion into his sadness; it was the kind of calm that was sleepy, almost paralysing, like succumbing to smoke or to cold; a sort of inverse point to mania. The feeling of blood going tepid.

'How,' Ruki said at last. He was disturbed to hear how his own voice scraped out of him so weakly, but his roommate seemed to take it in stride.

'Because I know you,' Toshiya said mercilessly. 'I've seen you do this already, don't you get that? You get things going okay, and then you find something to start worrying about, and you undo it all. You don't even wait to see how things are going to turn out; it's like you're so scared of things getting fucked up that you just have to fuck them up yourself, first. Like at least _that_ way it's on your terms.'

'What do you know,' Ruki said exhaustedly, and Toshiya gave a frustrated little laugh.

'About _this_? More than you think. Ruki, I fuck up _everything_. I had a great family, I did well in school, I...' he paused, apparently struggling for the right words, 'I'm pretty charming, right? People look at me and they don't see a loser; they see somebody who just – I don't know, _fell_ somewhere along the way; somebody they can help, who just needs a little care; do you even know how many people have tried to _save_ me? But I'm just like you. I'm impossible to save, because I won't save myself.'

 

He'd been speaking normally – perhaps a little quickly, but his voice just as light and even as usual – but his words left a ragged sort of sound in the air, as if he had screamed them. Slowly, his whole body aching and shivering, Ruki pushed himself upright in bed, clasping the covers to his chest like a child; as if he was still young enough to believe that hiding beneath the blankets would keep him safe; as if nothing bad could happen to him when he was tucked up in bed.

Delusions, he realised; sad, false promises that he should have let go of a long time ago. What had Eiji been but an extra large duvet, something to curl up behind so that he wouldn't have to face the world; what had he ever really done except what Ruki had wanted him to do – keep him pressed down, out of harm's way, safe in childhood for just a little while longer? He'd offered the illusion of love, and security, and like an idiot Ruki had grabbed at it because he'd been unable to cope with the thought of being without it.

Unthinkable that he could love _himself_ ; that he could keep himself secure.

Confused, he looked desperately over at Toshiya. His roommate sat very calm and still, not fidgeting or twitching as normal, and when Ruki looked at him he tilted his head to the side engagingly and smiled.

_I'm pretty charming, right?_

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and the smile was gone, and his body looked messy, and he began to tap his foot repetitively against the bed – the way he always did, Ruki realised dully, when he wanted a hit.

'D'you understand now?' Toshiya said a little restlessly. 'Nobody's going to come and help you any more.'

No: nobody was. He did understand that now. He pressed both hands against his head, trying to squeeze back against the terrible feeling of pressure inside his skull, as if might suddenly split.

'You used everybody up,' Toshiya continued savagely, 'Your parents, and Aoi, and _I'm_ no good; I'm an even bigger fuck-up than you are. Maybe your doctor will help you figure your shit out on the surface but he'll never get down to your _real_ problems, and if you try and lean on Kyo for this, you'll just end up dragging him down with you.'

'That's...' Ruki shook his head, closing his eyes to concentrate better against the thudding pain between his temples, 'That's not true. Kyo's strong—'

'Maybe once,' Toshiya said, a strange savage light in his eyes, 'But you beat him down. You made him care about you, and now you've done this to him. Think maybe he'll _snap_ again?'

'To-Toshiya—'

'That's how he handles his problems,' Toshiya said vindictively, 'Remember?'

'Not any more!'

'You should have seen him go after that orderly who kicked you – if they hadn't have pulled him off – I thought he was going to kill him—'

' _No_.'

'It'll be you, this time. _You're_ the cause, and _you'll_ be the one who he tears apart—

' _Enough_!'

He wasn't aware of jumping up from the bed. The blanket tangled around his legs and he half-fell, struggling to get at Toshiya as he stumbled, he hit his knee hard on the metal frame of his roommate's bed but grasped at Toshiya's face as he fell, his contorted hand missing but instead snagging in a tangle of his hair, yanking on it roughly. There was a ripping sound, and Ruki opened his hand to find a clump of long dark hair sticking to his sweaty palm.

Wordlessly, he stared at it, and then slowly brushed his hands off so that the hairs drifted to the floor. He felt nervous, twitching with adrenaline and waiting for a strike back that wasn't coming; shakily, he climbed to his feet, and busied himself for a moment picking up his blanket and smoothing it neatly back into place on his bed.

He found Toshiya sitting right where he'd left him, trying to light a cigarette with hands that trembled so violently he couldn't seem to get the flame of his lighter into the right place. Carefully, as if he was approaching a wild animal, Ruki leant forward and steadied his hand, and Toshiya breathed in a deep lungful of smoke.

He was crying, Ruki noticed. He did it absolutely silently, his breath just a little uneven, with huge tears sliding down his cheeks until they dripped unchecked from his chin; he noticed Ruki looking, and gave him a shaky smile. Shrugging, he gestured to the bed next to him, and woodenly Ruki went.

Sitting beside him, he could feel the feverish heat of his body, and the way he shivered. In his beautiful, one-track way, Toshiya kicked his covers out from under their two bodies and then guided Ruki down, lying curled up beside him like a twin; he dragged the blankets back up over them and groped for the switch on the little lamp that sat between their two beds, finally plunging them both into darkness.

Silence. Toshiya smoked the rest of his cigarette, its tip glowing a poisonous orange, and stubbed it out, possibly in the ashtray and possibly not. Ruki felt a pair of long, stickily warm arms tangling themselves around him, and despite himself he closed his eyes and allowed himself to nestle in closer to his roommate's chest, taking comfort in the humid heat of his skin and the sound of his heart, beating too fast.

'I love sharing a bed,' he heard his friend say sleepily. 'Ever since I was a kid, I always loved falling asleep with somebody there. I love waking up next to somebody in the morning.'

He sighed through his nose, his breath ruffling Ruki's hair. In the dark, beneath the covers, Ruki squeezed his arms around his own body tightly; his knuckles grazed skin and tentatively he slipped one hand around Toshiya's waist, letting it come to rest on his lower back. He thought he might have felt his roommate smile against his hair.

It was too confusing to think about, and so Ruki didn't. It was easier to accept Toshiya's embrace as the comfort it was, and to mutely thank him for it, and to let the warmth and the tenderness of it lull him gently off to sleep.

 

In the morning, there was no peaceful moment between waking up and remembering what he had done. Ruki had a night of strange, edgy half-dreams that all ended with Eiji pushing him down on his bed, and when he woke up it was with an instant sense of unease and foreboding, and a strange sickness that rolled around in his empty stomach like a warning. Disentangling himself from his roommate's arms, he got out of bed, and he saw Toshiya crack an eye open and regard him drowsily.

'Hey,' he said, rough-voiced from sleep. Not trusting himself to open his mouth, Ruki gave him a terse nod in return.

'Time is it?' Toshiya asked, and Ruki shrugged. It was light, at least, or becoming light; the sky was a soft grey-blue and that looked utterly distant from the hard, pale ground. On the distant hills, trees stood like dim shadows in the low morning mist, and Ruki shivered. He watched as Toshiya drew the covers in around his body and hugged them tightly into place.

There didn't seem to be much to say. Ruki was aware that something very strange had transpired between them, and that he wasn't sure if it had made them closer friends than before or cold, uninterested enemies, but something about Toshiya's demeanour had made it feel weirdly uncomplicated, as if that was just the way things worked in his world.

The thought made Ruki feel oddly sad, but he pushed the feeling to the side for the moment, focussing instead on getting dressed. He tugged on his clothing in a kind of fog: asylum-issue white T-shirt; asylum-issue grey pants; asylum-issue grey jumper, woollen and darker in colour than the pants. He could have worn something else, but he wanted to be even; to start out level. He couldn't exactly say why.

Methodically, he went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He made a half-hearted attempt to pat his hair into a more acceptable shape, but as usual in the morning it went exactly where it wanted to: all over the place.

Finally, he wandered out into the corridor. He drifted limply before settling in the TV room, silent at this time of day; he clambered up onto the back of the sofa, his bare feet digging between the cushions for warmth. Close by Aoi sat slumped in his usual armchair, and in a companionable quiet they watched the sky as it gradually lightened, the grey-blue mellowing out into a soft, formless white.

'How was the sex?' Aoi asked at last, his voice rusty-sounding, and Ruki stared down at his feet.

'Not what I wanted.'

'No.'

'You were heading to Hokkaido, weren't you?' Ruki asked, leaning his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms. 'That's why you were in Niigata.'

There was a short pause. 'Yeah.'

'You were going to look for that guy,' Ruki said slowly, his voice low and soft in the early-morning stillness, 'The guy you knew when you were a teenager.'

Aoi gave a small nod.

'Why?'

Shrug.

'Why not Die, or Uruha?'

The silence went on long enough for Ruki to glance over at Aoi, scared that he'd finished with talking. He found his old friend smiling bitterly down at his own lap, his hands busily turning his pack of cigarettes over and over.

'I guess I wanted to try and go back,' he said. 'Figure out where it started to go wrong.'

'Aoi...' Ruki dug his feet harder in between the cushions, 'It didn't go wrong. You...' he shrugged, the movement lopsided because of the way he cradled his head in his hands, 'You rescued them.'

Such a weird word in that context, he thought: _rescued_. He waited for Aoi to give a sarcastic little snort of laughter, but when he looked back, the other man had his face buried in his hands.

It was uncomfortable. Ruki had seen Aoi cry so few times, and Die had always been there to fold him into his arms. He knew that if he tried it, it wouldn't be the same.

Carefully, he leant over and clasped a small hand down on Aoi's shoulder. It shook softly beneath his touch, and gently he squeezed it. There was something so huddled about Aoi's posture that he felt as though he shouldn't be looking, as if he was intruding on something private, and so he stared blindly out towards the window.

'It's okay to miss them,' he said blankly. 'You don't have to be so tough all the time.'

'Don't be such a faggot,' Aoi mumbled indistinctly, and Ruki gave a sad snort of laughter and then bit his lip, debating with himself.

'He wrote you letters,' he said slowly, 'Die did, I mean. When he had to go to hospital, and you were stuck upstairs.'

Aoi rubbed his face harshly with his hands. 'I never got any letters,' he said in a weary voice.

'He loves you, Aoi. They both do.'

Aoi gave him a contorted sort of smile and lit up a cigarette. 'Yeah, okay.'

'They _do_ ,' Ruki insisted, feeling a welcome flicker of frustration; it seemed to bolster him, stop his own body from sagging so horribly. 'Even if they never said it, I know they felt it – I know they feel it. You...' he paused, anxious, 'You told me about that other guy...years ago...how he got all unsure once he was away from you, and so you let it go.'

Aoi didn't say anything, but he was looking at Ruki steadily now, his red-rimmed eyes oddly distinct in the early-morning dimness.

'You ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn't let it go? If you two had seen each other again?'

Ruki shrugged, stretching out his arms and then settling them nervously in his own lap, 'I guess – I _know_ you wonder about it, or you wouldn't have been trying to find him. But...' he hesitated, trying to choose his words very carefully, 'I think it was the other way around. I think it was maybe...maybe you who started getting unsure. I think you liked him, but you didn't really believe that he could like you.'

Aoi took a puff of his cigarette, his face not betraying any hint of emotion.

'Very wise,' he said, his voice dry and somehow thick, as though he had a bad cold.

'But I'm right, aren't I? And now you're doing the same thing with Die and Uruha. Because I...I think they've called, but you haven't talked to them. Not really, I mean.'

'Pretty bold guess,' Aoi said shortly.

'What are you so _scared_ of?'

Aoi left that unanswered. The silence stretched out between them, and Ruki sighed.

'I've had a lot to think about over the past few hours,' he said finally, his voice coming out very small. 'I've done some pretty stupid things.'

Aoi didn't answer that, either; just gave Ruki a look and puffed on his cigarette.

'I'm not going to be like you, though,' Ruki continued quietly. 'I'm going to try and fix it.'

Pause. 'And if you can't?'

'If I can't, then I can't.'

'Pretty zen,' Aoi said tiredly, and held up two-fingers in a V shape. 'Peace.'

'Yeah. Peace.'

'So what's the plan?'

Ruki eyed him; for a split-second he'd sounded almost like his old self, but then the sharp lilt in his voice had bent in on itself, and crumbled again.

'Don't know. Honesty, I guess.'

'“I fucked somebody else, but I'm in love with you”?'

Ruki flinched, and Aoi sighed. 'Good luck,' he said tonelessly.

Silence, again. Ruki raked both hands through his hair, tugging at the knots. He could see his own wild-eyed reflection in the window, small and stilted and afraid, and he forced himself to stare it down.

Aoi didn't ask him why he was still sitting there, if he had a plan. He supposed it was obvious what he was doing: counting his breaths, his heartbeats, every blink and sigh and queasy thump inside his chest. Quantifying the moment: how many of these in a second, in a minute. Making a map.

Making a map, and gathering courage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! We're _finally_ getting there. It's been many a moon. 
> 
> I hope everyone is at least somewhat surprised at what a nutter Toshiya actually is, because he's had this scene inside him for months, and I've really been waiting for the day when he gets to show his darker side and give Ruki a good telling off.


	56. Chapter 56

Clay. That was what was under their feet. Compacted snow, and a shelf of ice, and beneath it all red-grey clay holding tight to the roots of the trees and gluing the mountain together, rocks surfacing from it like bulky shipwrecks, gasping for breath. Grass tied it together, straw-coloured ropes binding down the surface, tough even when it was dead. Soon the spring would come, and it would wake up; the whole mountain would wake up.

It had been the longest winter of Ruki's life.

He tramped along with his hands in his pockets, Kyo at his side, the two of them keeping a companionable silence. A ghostly moon still hung in the sky, opposite the wan February sun, and when they stopped on top of a soft plateau Ruki watched Kyo's dark, reflective eyes as they flicked from the one to the other. Sun, moon. Sun, moon. It was late morning, and the air was cold and brittle, fresh tasting, almost metallic. The sky was filmed with translucent clouds and, behind them, a pale watery blue.

Despite the tense knot fear in his chest, Ruki felt strangely at peace. He had an odd sense that he had fallen now, and so couldn't fall any further. He might have doomed himself by deciding to be honest, but he had also freed himself: whatever happened next, it was out of his hands. All he had to do was watch.

'I like it when they do this,' Kyo said, narrowing his eyes to peer upwards.

'Huh?'

'The sun and the moon, sharing the same sky.'

'I had a dream once,' Ruki said slowly, 'where we were up here, you and me, and they rolled into one.'

He felt Kyo's shrewd eyes on his face and coloured slightly, remembering the rest of the dream. 'It was a long time ago.'

There was a long pause as Kyo studied him, his head tilted at an angle. 'What is it,' he said flatly.

Ruki had to smile at that, dropping his gaze to the frozen ground.

'You always do that,' he said. 'Look right through me. You've always been able to.' He stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking a little nervously on the balls of his feet, and gave an awkward sort of laugh to cover the way his heart had begun to race. 'Maybe that's why I like you so much.'

He glanced up and found Kyo watching him very levelly, their dark eyes meeting in a white landscape. There had been a time, he thought at a remove, when he wouldn't have been able to decode the expression on the other man's face; over the years he had become so good at hiding it: who he really was, how he really felt. Concealing it, like something precious. The very best of him.

Now he read a fierce, blazing sort of hope; a lingering suspicion; a reserved sort of fear. The look of a stray animal cornered.

'I fucked Eiji,' Ruki said, forcing the words to remain straight where they attempted to distort himself in his throat; they came out rough but clear. 'When he came to visit yesterday.'

Kyo turned his eyes back up to the sky, staring at the sun, his face neutral.

'I didn't – I didn't _want_ to. But he didn't force me, or anything.'

Unexpectedly, his eyes filled with tears; he blinked impatiently to clear them. How fucked up was this whole situation, that he had to make such a distinction? Where _he didn't force me_ felt like some kind of brag; like a compliment?

Kyo was quiet for a long time, his owlish eyes going slowly back and forth between sun and moon, sun and moon. The moon was eerily distinct, every crater deliberately and delicately defined. Pale as it was, the sun made Ruki's eyes sting, and he blinked blue.

'Oh,' Kyo said finally, his voice perhaps a shade deeper than normal; just a little rougher. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his donated jacket, squaring his shoulders.

'I'm – I'm really sorry,' Ruki said, ignoring the way his voice wavered and tried to crack, 'And I – I'll understand if you don't ever want to talk to me again. I don't want to make any excuses.' His voice seemed to burn somewhere inside his chest. 'I fucked up,' he added, his throat tightening. 'I mean – I really, _really_ fucked up, and I shouldn't have done it. And I'm...and I'm sorry.'

Slowly, like somebody waking from a deep sleep, Kyo turned sharp eyes onto him.

'Why shouldn't you have done it?' he asked suspiciously, and Ruki felt something like an awful caving sensation, as if something deep inside of him was starting to break apart.

'Because I don't want to hurt you,' he said in a small voice.

He flinched back as Kyo made a sudden movement, but pointlessly; all the other man did was grasp a handful of his own hair, looking utterly vexed, and when he next spoke his voice was fractured almost in the same way Ruki's was: ' _No_. That's – wrong. That's not why.'

'But...' Ruki stared at him with wide eyes, the question mark hanging at the end of his voice, and Kyo made a frustrated sound.

'You shouldn't have done it,' Kyo said, his face and voice both very stiff and tight, 'Because he – isn't – good enough. Not for you.'

His words hung strangely in the fresh, cold air, like mist that refused to dissipate, and Kyo glared after them where they drifted.

 

Feeling suddenly weak and oddly light-headed, Ruki sat down, straight into the snow. Dimly he felt it seep into his clothes, but accepted it; it seared against his skin in a way that felt almost hot. He could hear a gasping sound, the sound of poor and unmeasured breathing, and the idea dawned on him that it must have been coming from his own lungs. He lowered his head; listened to his pulse race.

He saw the movement of Kyo's pale shadow as the other man squatted down on his heels beside him, regarding Ruki in his familiar, peculiarly flat way: so disconcerting when you didn't know him; so endearing when you did. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Kyo's gaze dropped to his own clasped hands, reddening in chill of the morning.

'You should only do that with people you want to do it with,' he said, his voice forceful but oddly clumsy, and Ruki flexed his cold fingers.

'I hurt you,' he said softly, and Kyo gave a small twitch, as if he was shaking off a fly.

'You don't owe me,' he said stiffly, 'Any explanations.'

'But I—' Ruki faltered, biting his lip. 'I hurt you,' he repeated, shrugging helplessly.

Kyo pressed his lips together.

'You'll meet so many people in your life,' he said at last. He frowned, his hands gripping each other tightly. 'The world is so full of them.'

Very high in the sky, a small flock of birds flew in an untidy arrangement towards the sun. Their wings moved so little they appeared to be skating.

His face set, his voice painful sounding, Kyo said: 'Eiji—'

He paused there for a long time, his lips clamped together. 'He doesn't love you,' he said finally.

Ruki didn't quite know how to answer that. 'He might do,' he said a little lamely, and Kyo's eyes seemed to pierce his.

'Not like I love you.'

A great silence seemed to hang in the air. The birds turned suddenly, almost as one; they headed towards the ground but wheeled upwards, one of them letting out a high, keening cry; they swooped, shooting up into the blue with incredible speed, and Ruki couldn't tell what they were even flying for. Maybe just the joy of flying, he thought solidly. Maybe just the freedom of it.

He had the curious feeling of every cell in his body beginning to come alive, as if after a long hibernation, shifting into some brighter and more vital arrangement; the feeling of _beauty_ , inalienable and utterly quantifiable – something that he had briefly brushed past once before, on the afternoon he'd sat on Kyo's bed, drawing him blind. Now, it felt a hundred times more intense. He took a deep breath and felt it vibrate all the way down to his stomach, to between his legs; he felt his fingers quiver with the urge to touch, with all the things they wanted to do; skin humming and pupils dilating, lips parting, reddening, knees opening, shaking.

'I don't expect it to be me,' Kyo said jaggedly, still staring straight into Ruki's eyes. 'But – just...'

Uncharacteristically for him, he let his words fade away, and something behind his face seemed to crease and shatter. 'Just choose somebody better,' he said painfully, 'Next time.'

There was a weird sort of ringing in Ruki's ears, but he thought it might be growing fainter.

'I don't know that there'll be a next time,' he said, and smiled nervously. 'I've sort of already chosen.'

Slowly, with hands that shook slightly, Kyo unearthed a packet of cigarettes from a deep pocket and tapped one loose.

'You know if you tell me it's Toshiya, I won't be able to take it,' he mumbled, and Ruki gave a surprised bark of a laugh; genuine, unpretty.

'Was that a _joke_?'

Kyo frowned as he focussed on the flame of his lighter. 'Might've been.'

'Are jokes going to be a regular feature?'

'Of?'

'Of being with you,' Ruki said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the way his body trembled.

'Could be. I've had a very strange upbringing. I don't know what's appropriate.' Kyo exhaled bluish smoke and caught his eye. 'You're serious,' he said.

'Yeah.'

 

There was a long moment of quiet. Lowly, the birds squalled overhead, and Ruki was careful to maintain eye contact because his voice seemed to have shut off in his throat, and he knew that he didn't have a hope of explaining how he felt any other way.

But it was like recognition, he thought.

Kyo's defensively rounded shoulders; the sharp lines of his face half-silhouetted by the low winter sun behind him.

Like a recognition. Like a daydream of walking at the edge of the world in Osaka, where the great grey ocean began, at the ports where the big ships docked; of a boat coming in over the horizon, tiny at first and gradually getting bigger and bigger as it got closer. The ship finally coming into port, and seeing a figure on the deck; outlined by sunlight, edged in gold. A familiar face gazing down at Ruki from the bow; no stranger, this one. No brother, either.

More than a brother, in a way that made Ruki shiver.

Grave-eyed, a jewel against the sky; the kind of human that glowed, stretching forth like a dream.

More than a brother.

'You're shaking.'

'I'm...'

'You're cold.'

A little stiffly Kyo straightened up, and awkwardly Ruki clambered to his feet beside him. They stood still for a minute, Kyo squinting out over the surrounding hills as though waiting for something.

'We should go back,' he said bluntly. 'It's nearly time.'

'Yeah,' Ruki agreed, his voice juddering out of control with cold and nerves, 'Okay.'

Still the two of them stood there, Kyo gazing steadily outward and Ruki watching the way the light breeze picked up the ends of his hair.

'I'll need a little time,' he said shortly. 'That's how it is.'

'I've got time,' Ruki said.

Soberly, they looked at each other. Nothing more was said, but it seemed some kind of strange understanding had passed between them; silently they began to walk, picking their way carefully down the hill. Ruki was so cold that his body felt weirdly divorced from him, and he had the odd sense that he was walking not on the ground but drifting somewhere above it, climbing softly through the air. He stumbled, slipping a little on the ice, and Kyo took his hand. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled at him.

A new smile, this one: younger, and carefree, and full of promise. That was all, and hand-in-hand, the two of them continued down the icy slope to the sanatorium.

 

It wasn't discussed, but over the next few days, the mornings took on a different shape.

Each day Ruki woke and dressed earlier despite Toshiya's bad tempered grumbling when he didn't manage to sleep through the alarm clock; he would pull his clothes on in the dark and shiver his way through brushing his teeth. A shower could come later; there was something he couldn't miss.

Sometimes he was the first one to arrive in the music room, and sometimes he wasn't; sometimes he would meet one of the others in the bathroom, sleepily washing their face or yanking a comb through their hair. The music room was the best choice because its high, narrow windows – the windows that Ruki could never, ever picture without seeing Kyo sitting beneath them, his knees bent and slightly spread in front of him and his head tipped back to show his throat – commanded the best view out to the East, over the hills, slumbering in the dark.

Most days they both joined him. They made a peculiar threesome, a combination Ruki never could have dreamed a few months ago: himself, Aoi, and Kyo.

Silently they'd file in, maybe nodding a sleepy greeting to each other or maybe not, and they would take their three places side by side, sat on top of the old wooden piano. Funny how they sat, Ruki thought: Aoi with his back in an appealing slouchy curve and his legs elegantly crossed; Kyo with his spine and neck ramrod straight and his hands gripping the edge of the piano lid; Ruki with his feet neatly together on the wood that covered the ivory keys and his hands pressed tightly between his knees. Funny how people revealed so many aspects of themselves in everything they undertook to do.

Some days the wait felt longer than others, but slowly, as they watched, the gloom over the surrounding countryside began to lift. The first rays of light would start to appear over the horizon and vague corona would become visible over the ground, a sort of extra low atmosphere of early-morning mist clinging to the branches of the trees and drifting slowly over the peaks and valleys ahead.

Then, if they had timed it right and were allowed to sit for long enough, it would start raining upwards. If the sun rose uninterrupted by clouds, and the whole sky washed itself with yellow, all the mist would begin to evaporate upwards, rising irrepressibly into the sky from the ground. That was the time that Ruki waited for: the moment where it appeared, even if only briefly, that everything the frozen ground had been hanging onto all winter was suddenly free. On a gentle current, everything the season had forgotten would rise up towards the heavens.

 

February was a month of letters.

Shinya received his usual one a week from his parents, and if his face was relaxed and his mind was quiet he might read it. His dark eyes darted almost improbably quickly from line to line, and if Ruki watched closely he found he could see the little micro-expressions moving over Shinya's face; the ghosts of smiles and frowns flitting across like brief clouds, an emotional weather forecast delivered in silence. His letters were pages long, neatly folded into three so they pleated, accordion-like. He wrote back kneeling painfully upright by the coffee table in the TV room, his own script impeccably neat, and only occasionally would he finish a three or four page letter only to scribble darkly over it and tear it to shreds. If he did though, he would normally disappear for a while. Sometimes he would appear at meals later and sometimes he wouldn't. Always he wore the shamed, chastened look of somebody recently punished.

Aoi received letters most days, though there was no telling if he opened them or not; blank-faced he would accept the envelopes when the nurse offered them to him, but he would simply slip them into his pockets and place his hands back in his lap. Curiously, Toshiya's behaviour was similar: post for him was far rarer, but when he did get a letter it always seemed to unsettle him, and he would pocket it with an unconvincingly casual look on his face. Only Kyo received no post at all.

For Ruki, there were letters from his parents and letters from Eiji, the odd letter from Iwamiya, always touchingly formal, and even – on one occasion – a postcard showing the Ise shrine, its back covered by a few carefully cheerful lines of Die's slapdash handwriting. Ruki replied to all but Eiji's. His parents were easy – a few lines about how he was feeling better, about the weather starting to change, who had gone home; questions about them and their lives. Iwamiya, too, was simple: just admin, really. Housekeeping. Questions about the exhibition, about numbers and dates and framing; when it came to Iwamiya he enjoyed everything about their relationship, but especially its impersonality. He wasn't about to go repeating past mistakes.

 

Writing a letter to Die was much harder. Living on the outside, he seemed much thinner and frailer and weaker than he ever had before; it was such a big planet, Ruki thought anxiously, and Die was drifting about all alone on the face of it, entirely undefended. Where were his walls now, his structures? What held him up? Ruki couldn't begin to imagine, and so he wrote about the sanatorium – the way the hills looked now that the snow was wearing down a little, how most of the days were rainy now and what snow they had didn't accumulate any more, and he asked if Die had heard from Uruha; if they were keeping in contact. About Kyo and Aoi, he had no idea what to say. He spent the better part of an hour puzzling over that one, tapping his pencil repeatedly against the table so that the lead inside shattered into a hundred pieces and couldn't even be sharpened any more.

 _We all miss you,_ he wrote finally, _and talk about you often_. _It doesn't feel right seeing Aoi without you and Uruha by his side, and even though I'm happy for you living your real life again, I also wish that you hadn't left._

He paused there, frowning down at the page and wondering if Die would be able to read between the lines. He realised that if wasn't so much a question of whether or not he _could_ but rather whether or not he wanted to, and the thought made his insides seem to twist with nerves.

_Shinya is quiet and Aoi spends most of his time shut up inside your old room, and so the place mostly feels dead, like we're all just killing time until we find out what's going to happen. Apart from when I have my meetings with Sato, I spend the days with Kyo. In the mornings we study together. He's going to get his elementary and secondary school certificates._

He bit down on his lower lip before adding, _I hope this means that he's thinking about the future, rather than just humouring me. In the afternoons we normally go out walking for an hour; the nurses are much more lax now, even if it's raining they'll let us go as long as we take an umbrella with us and wear raincoats. I think they're happier to just not bother worrying about us for a while. After that, Kyo spends some time writing or going over his notes, and I draw and write letters. It's afternoon now, obviously. It's been raining on and off most of the day, but it's stopped recently. Soon it'll be time for dinner, and the hills all around us are bathed in a soft sort of light – that sort of 'after school' light I always used to really love. I think I'll always think of it that way._

_Now that I'm having more thoughts about my future and the outside, time seems to pass incredibly slowly in here, and there are so many hours to fill. Mostly I'm impatient for the next steps, and for life to start again, but part of me doesn't want to leave at all. It's taken me a while to figure out that this is life, too – a different sort of life, but still life. Maybe you had the same moment I did after you first came here, when you found yourself finally looking around and realising that the surrounding scenery is really beautiful. That's kind of what I mean: there's beauty here, too, and there can be happiness, and love, and really almost anything. The only difference is having freedom, but you can even find that here, sometimes. For example, they can keep your body shut up here, but what's inside your skull still belongs to you. There's a kind of freedom in that._

_But anyway, there's too much time, which is probably why this letter is so long and rambling. I'm sorry. Please write back._

He scrawled his name at the bottom, confident strokes making up the simplest of shapes, and stuffed what he'd written into an envelope. He sealed it and addressed it before he could give himself a chance to acknowledge all that he'd left out, and placed the letter carefully on top of the piano.

The light was filtering almost sideways into the room, getting into his eyes, and from the threadbare seat of one of the armchairs Kai's old radio conveyed the staticky voice of Dusty Springfield: _it doesn't matter where you go or what you do,_ she sang, her voice laced with radio hiss, _I want to spend each moment of the day with you..._

Under the window, Kyo sat in a hunched and crooked snare of limbs, his head tilted back towards the wall and his eyes closed, and something about the steadiness of his breathing told Ruki that he was asleep.

Carefully, his bare feet padding softly over the polished floor, Ruki first turned down the radio slightly and then approached him, squatting on his heels down by his side.

He hesitated, and then he craned forward and kissed him very softly on the cheek.

'I'll wait,' he whispered, as if continuing an earlier conversation. There were still a few minutes before the nurses would start gathering them together for dinner, and so he plucked a paperback novel from the top of the pile by Kyo's side, opened it at random, and settled down to read in the golden afternoon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end now! Depending on how long-winded I am, I'm thinking it might be all wrapped up by chapter 60. This is a LONG FIC. Thank you all for sticking with it!


	57. Chapter 57

'What do you talk about in therapy?'

Comb in hand, Toshiya flipped some damp hair out of his face and looked at him.

'You supposed to ask that?'

'No,' Ruki said comfortably, and Toshiya shrugged. He separated a new section of his hair, tangling his fingers in it in a familiar sort of way, as if it comforted him, and slowly began to work his comb through it.

'Girls,' he said slowly. 'My family. School. Things I've done.' He cracked a grin, just visible through the dark web of wet hair covering his face, 'Mostly Kimura just wants me to look back, so he can try to figure out where I went so wrong.'

'I wonder if it works that way,' Ruki mused, and Toshiya quirked an eyebrow at him.

'Huh?'

'If it all comes from one thing, I mean.'

'Oh, yeah. Like the butterfly effect. On one side of the world, a butterfly flaps its wings, and over here in Japan some kid decides, _fuck it_ , and sticks a needle in his arm.'

Ruki peered at him closely, but Toshiya's face wasn't revealing anything. He thought he might have caught a hint of bitterness in his voice, but he figured he must have been wrong; Toshiya's posture was relaxed, and he was now busily lighting up a cigarette.

'Maybe it's not like that,' Ruki said a little uneasily. 'Maybe it's just...predisposition, or something.'

'What, like you're born with it? The crazy gene?'

'Something like that. I think it takes both. Some people have the potential to snap easier than others, and then something happens to push them just that last little bit, and that's it: everything goes dark and jumbled, and you have to untangle all the threads again if you want to get better.'

'Dunno,' Toshiya said artlessly, 'Doesn't check out for everyone, does it? Like Shinya: he's not been fucked up by anything we know of, right? He's just... _screwy_. Just doesn't work.'

Ruki snorted.

' _Screwy_. That your professional opinion?'

Affably, Toshiya gave him the finger.

'Anyway, your theory doesn't run to me, either. Much as I'd like to blame my, y'know, powdery little problem on some _trauma_ , I've got nothing. So I guess I'm just screwy, too. I don't work either.'

Ruki hesitated. 'Toshiya—'

'C'mon, it's breakfast time.'

'Oh.' Ruki blinked, feeling weirdly disoriented, 'Right.'

Out in the corridor every door was open, letting yellow rectangles of morning light in across the floor; down the hall, Ruki could see Aoi's dark silhouette still perched on top of the piano, a fine trickle of cigarette smoke disturbing the dust motes swirling in the sunshine above his head. In Uruha's old room both bed frames were bare of mattresses; by the nurses' station, Kyo regarded Shinya gravely as his delicate fingers manoeuvred the pills he was being given between his lips, swallowing them down with neat sips of water. A trick of the morning light made Shinya's head appear to be on fire when he tipped it back. The chalkboard on the wall held the usual printed list of names, _RTW_ printed next to Shinya's and Aoi's and chalky smears still remaining where Uruha and Die had been recently rubbed away. It was familiar enough for Ruki's eyes to slip over until Toshiya nudged him and pointed back up at it: 'Look, you're getting a visitor.'

His mouth felt suddenly cottony. 'Oh.'

His eyes slid towards Kyo, who was gazing determinedly at a blank patch of wall.

 

Breakfast that day passed quietly. Rice, egg, soy sauce: Kyo ate steadily, his knee an even warmth against Ruki's under the table; Aoi shovelled the food in, looking more like he was simply moving a burden from one place to another than eating. Shinya picked, his pretty face set in a suspicious frown, and even Toshiya seemed uncharacteristically distant, twirling his chopsticks idly and sending the occasional longing gaze at his cigarettes.

Ruki himself didn't feel very hungry any more: the food seemed too glossy, too hyper realistic. In his mouth its textures were too defined. The tea was over brewed and seemed to shrivel his tongue.

When the meal was over, Kyo didn't make any move to get out his textbooks, and Ruki didn't suggest it. There was a weird jitteriness to his limbs and body that was giving him deja vu, and he realised it reminded him of those cold university mornings when he'd spent the night with Eiji, alternately getting fucked and stealing snatches of sleep stretched out on his chilly bedsheets. Those mornings he'd funnelled bitter black coffee into himself to keep himself going, and the feeling he had now – like his heart was beating too hard and too high in his chest – was exactly the same. Then at least he'd had lectures and classes to busy his mind and take his thoughts away from his freshly scraped knees and the weird tenderness he felt in his lower half, the ache in his head and his neck and the dryness of his eyes.

Suppose Eiji had woken up earlier than his usual hour; suppose he'd got on the road by eight; it wasn't impossible. He could be here within the next half hour. Or imagine he'd taken public transport – that was more likely – the train from Osaka to Kyoto, a ride on the metro on either side and then a taxi at the end...Ruki struggled to remember how long it had taken for his parents to drop him off here; it had felt like days. In reality, he supposed it couldn't have been much more than a couple of hours. That would get him here at ten or so; midday if he set off at the kind of time he usually got up in the morning.

He realised that he'd been methodically working his thumb through a tiny hole in the sleeve of his sweatshirt, stretching it out. With an attempt at demureness, he stuck both hands out the end of his sleeves and placed them firmly into his lap.

Selfishly, he wanted Kyo to say something to him: to turn to him and tell him that it would be all right; that he had the strength to do this.

It crossed his mind that he'd given Kyo absolutely no reason to think such a thing, and he sunk down a little lower in his chair. It was _him_ who should be saying something, he thought: something to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about. The problem wasn't that he couldn't put it into words but that he had too _many_ words; they tangled themselves up in his mind and strung themselves into messy confessions where nothing sounded right, nothing sounded complete.

Lunch time came and went without incident and without much appetite: buckwheat noodles, natto and a savoury broth poured on top. Bland, wholesome, boring food. Irrelevantly, Ruki felt a pinch of resistance: would it kill the staff to give them something indulgent, just once? He dreamed of Osaka food: okonomiyaki slathered in sauce and bonito flakes, steaming hot pork buns with mustard so sharp it made Ruki sneeze.

Really though, the thought was a distraction; it was artificial. It was no relation to what he really objected to.

 

After lunch the five of them sat around in the TV room, the set on but nobody watching it; since the great storm over the new year the rabbit ears had been picking up more static than ever, and the picture had a tendency to jump and flicker. Blankly, Ruki stared past an advertisement for laundry detergent and another for Electrolux upright vacuum cleaners; this was the dead time of day, when only housewives and very young children would be watching. Tyres crunched over the gravel drive outside just a little before two o'clock; as if a spotlight had suddenly been swung onto him, Ruki sat very still. He heard a car door slam distinctly in the cold, bright stillness of the day; heard in sequence the echo of footsteps coming up the stairwell and the scraping of the key in the lock.

He cast desperate eyes around the room, but everybody was determinedly engaged in their own business, no matter how feeble that business was: Aoi was slouched right down, his head tipped as if he was asleep even though his eyes were open; Kyo was holding a paperback myopically close to his face; Shinya was arranging and rearranging chess pieces and Toshiya was lying on his back, delicately blowing smoke rings up into the empty air.

When Eiji walked in, nobody moved. He might have wandered onto the set of a play with a particularly committed cast; diligently, everybody kept to their roles.

'Hey, kid.'

Ruki was careful not to look at him as he got to his feet and walked out of the room. He could feel his presence behind him; could even smell him – his mixture of cigarette smoke, turpentine and cologne. He took a deep breath and let himself fill up with it.

Out in the corridor, he hesitated only briefly before taking a left and leading Eiji into the empty music room, where the other man followed with a good-natured sort of interest, glancing around like a tourist, his hands on his hips.

'Somebody in your room, kid?'

Ruki shook his head, but didn't explain. Instead, he gestured to one of the armchairs, and when Eiji sat down he boosted himself up onto the lid of the piano, swinging his legs nervously in empty space. He tucked his hands up inside the sleeves of his sweater so that he wouldn't be tempted to fidget or reach for his cigarettes.

'Look at me,' Eiji said softly, and Ruki did.

 

This time, he took his time about it. He didn't ease himself into it by starting at Eiji's feet and working his way up; he turned his eyes directly onto his face and stared there hard, trying to take in every detail. He noticed that the older man looked just the slightest bit uncertain, and something firmed itself up in Ruki's spine, making him sit straighter.

Start with the basics: Eiji was wearing his glasses, the ones that Ruki now thought couldn't possibly be prescription because he went without them so often. His hair was tousled and windswept: from what, the train ride? The fierce gale he'd encountered from the mouth of the subway station to the closest taxi? He hadn't shaved, and his jaw was intriguingly dark and shapely with stubble; his mouth was thin though, its shape too basic; his nose thin, too, and even somewhat beaky, Ruki thought now. Noticing the intensity of his look, Eiji smiled, revealing the crooked front tooth that Ruki had always liked.

It occurred to him that he saw that tooth so often: that Eiji smiled so often, stupidly, at nothing. That he smiled because he knew he looked good doing it; that he smiled in a way that was supposed to look artfully embittered even when everything was going right; that he smiled only ever with half his mouth at once, like it would be uncool to commit to it too deeply.

He remembered Kyo's smile, on the hillside. His cheeks and the tip of his nose had been rosy with cold, and the smile had transformed his whole face; had lit up some pure thing inside of him, something that had clung on and endured despite the darkness that crept in at every corner.

Ruki shook his sleeves back towards his forearms, and leant back on his hands.

'What are you thinking about, kid?' Eiji asked, his voice that soft, smoky sort of tone that had, once upon a time, made Ruki go weak at the knees.

But that felt like very long ago.

 

'I don't feel anything.'

There was a polite beat of silence, and Eiji leant forward in his armchair.

'Ruki,' he said comfortably, 'Come on. I know after last time...' he trailed off, looking up, and Ruki realised with an unexpected twinge of amusement that Eiji had expected him to interrupt – to get flustered and try to hush up any mention of sex; to trip himself up, blunder back into his arms.

'...After last time,' Eiji picked up again, his smile fading at the corners, 'You must have been feeling pretty confused. And I...' he glanced around quickly, lowering his voice, 'Kid, is it safe to talk about this here?'

Ruki just shrugged, and Eiji sat back, running a hand through his hair.

'I know it's confusing,' he said, his voice losing its seductive tone, 'What happened between us. Believe me, kid, I wasn't planning on it, but I think you'll agree you made it pretty clear what you wanted, so—'

'How?'

'What?'

'How did I make it clear?'

'I...' Eiji faltered, 'Kid, look. I know you're sick, and I've been – I think I've been pretty patient. But I'm not gonna _wait_ forever. I'm not gonna get...played around by you.'

Ruki bit his lip, letting that sink into him. He took a deep breath in, and let it out.

'Okay,' he said finally.

Eiji raised his eyebrows.

'“Okay”?'

'Okay,' Ruki repeated, shrugging, 'I don't want to play around with you. I don't want to get back with you, and I don't think we should see each other again, so you shouldn't wait.'

Forgotten, Eiji's cigarette sent strong-smelling curls of bluish smoke towards the ceiling; he smoked some pretentious, European brand. For some reason, remembering that gave Ruki a sort of squeezing feeling inside his chest: he examined it closer, prodding at it cautiously, and realised that it was pity.

'Eiji,' he said kindly, 'We don't make a good couple. You don't really love me, and I don't love you.'

'But you _do_ , kid.'

'No, I don't. I used to – I really used to. But you were right: September can't marry May. Even...when you think about it, I'd be more like March, and you'd be more like July. But they still can't marry.'

' _March_? What the hell are you _talking_ about, kid?'

'If you imagine we'll live to be about eighty or so,' Ruki explained patiently, 'Then you divide that into twelfths, that makes each month correspond to between six and seven years. Six point six recurring. So with me being twenty when we met, and you being forty six, that makes us March and July.'

'They've got you on something,' Eiji said immediately, but Ruki shook his head.

'The point,' he said gently, 'Is that we don't go well together. You're not a bad person exactly. You're just...selfish. That's not really what I want. I always – see, I always had this thing, this sort of vision of what the perfect love would be. I think I'd need somebody to love me unconditionally, but you'll never be able to do that.'

They were interrupted by Aoi. As Eiji watched, wide-eyed, he stalked silently into the music room and began flipping through their now scanty stack of records: without Die's collection, they had a grand total of six LPs left in their collection, if you didn't count the duplicates that both Aoi and Ruki owned. The room remained quiet as Aoi selected The Beatles' _Magical Mystery Tour_ and slipped it onto the turntable. There was a half-second of empty record hiss, and then a wonderful thing happened: the opening strains of the title track began, and Ruki suddenly felt incredibly light; so light he had to smile, and then grin, and then choke off a laugh. It was just so incongruous; such a relief from the scratching irritation of Eiji's stubborn, thickheaded refusal to get the point; he met Aoi's eye, and the other man gazed back at him innocently before flopping down on the floor, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. A cigarette was sticking out of his mouth; its smoke made a friendlier sort of smell than Eiji's.

 

' _Ruki_ ,' Eiji said pointedly, his voice firm, 'We should go to your room.'

'It's only Aoi. He doesn't mind.'

'Well maybe _I_ mind,' Eiji said tightly.

'Why?' Ruki asked, 'Aoi's fine. He's gay, even, and he's your type, isn't he?'

'I'm not interested in some...mental patient!'

'But you think a mental patient will make you interesting, don't you? So what's the difference? It could be any of us; we'd all do just as well as the other. Apart from...well, apart from Kyo. You can't have him.' He grinned nervously and bit at his nails.

'You're throwing it all away,' Eiji said forcefully, and Ruki noticed that he didn't really look all that artistic any more. He'd taken off his glasses and set them on the arm of the chair, and in the process of running his hand through his hair agitatedly he'd accidentally flattened it down; he could have been a bank teller, an office manager, a salaryman.

He looked _old_.

'We _had_ something,' Eiji said, savagely now, 'We had something _special_ , and you're just throwing it away.'

'No,' Ruki said emphatically, ' _You_ threw it away. You did that when you dumped me for the next one.'

'You know if I walk out of here, I won't be coming back. You know that, right?'

'I know.'

Slowly, Eiji shook his head.

'I don't get this, kid. You used to adore me; I mean all I had to do was say the word, and you'd be there. You used to wait outside for me; you used to...you _loved_ me. When did that turn to this? How did you get to _hating_ me?'

'I don't hate you.'

Eiji snorted, and Ruki shook his head, feeling his knotty hair sway around his face. He remembered that he hadn't even brushed it that morning; that he hadn't even showered yet, figuring he may as well just do it in the evening instead. He was wearing institutional clothing, because that way he and Kyo matched, and he was a mess because even though he'd known Eiji was coming, he somehow hadn't thought to make himself _not_ a mess.

It just hadn't seemed important.

'I don't hate you,' Ruki repeated softly, 'I just don't care one way or the other.'

'Ruki—'

'And _you_ don't care, either. You're only here because you figured that...that if you couldn't get what you wanted, then at least you could get me.' He paused, shrugging almost apologetically. 'But it's just...not true any more. And the thing is...'

He felt suddenly short of breath, dizzy. He steadied himself; cleared his throat. Tried to make his voice strong, big, because he thought he perhaps only had the ability to say what he had to say once, and he wanted to be heard.

'The thing is, there's a man over in the other room. And if I can ever get my _shit_ together, then pretty soon I'm going to tell him that I love him.'

Taken aback, nobody spoke for a moment. Even Aoi opened his eyes.

'So you're fucking somebody else,' Eiji said quietly. 'Not just somebody else, a – a _lunatic_. A _crazy_. How long did you wait after we did it before you went hitting the _sheets_ again, you little – you _dirty_ —'

'Oi.'

Aoi sat up straight, his dark, lively gaze boring straight into Eiji's, 'Oi, you. Old man.'

Eiji didn't answer, perhaps in shock at being addressed in such a way.

'He's not just fucking _any_ old crazy,' Aoi said, his eyes glinting maliciously, 'He's with the _craziest_. He's with our real _psycho_. And he's pretty unpredictable, so you don't want to make him snap.' He paused, smiling in a way that showed his teeth, 'Ruki here had a problem with an orderly, and next time I saw that guy, he was holding his teeth in his hands.'

Helpless, Eiji turned to Ruki, who shrugged.

'But it's not just him,' Aoi continued. 'We're _all_ fucking crazy. Want to try us? _Hey_!'

He leapt suddenly to his feet, the movement more energetic than anything he'd attempted in weeks, and his rangy stride took him across the hallway in seconds, 'Hey, everyone. C'mon, we've got a guest who needs a _demo_. A _taster_. He wants to see how _nutso_ we all are; all of us loonies.'

 

It happened as if inside his head, surreal and vivid as a dream; with somnambulant motions they filled the room, wild eyed and dragging their feet, screwing their hands up in their hair. _The Fool On The Hill_ made way for _Flying_ as Shinya clasped his long, thin arms around himself, tilted his head back and performed a long, low, pleasant-sounding howl towards the ceiling; as Toshiya dropped down into a crawl and began exaggeratedly meowing like a cat, rubbing his head against Eiji's knee no matter how much he tried to cringe away; as Aoi grinned and made as if to bite at him, stretching out like a lynx and making little snapping motions; as Kyo, a hard, blazing sort of look on his face, boosted himself up on the piano next to Ruki and, quietly, took his hand.

Something felt like it was stuck in the back of Ruki's throat. He was aware in a vague sort of way that Eiji was growing uncomfortable, even panicked, in a way that he really should see to, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Kyo's face.

'Did you...er...' he trailed off, watching the way Kyo watched the scene in front of us. He wasn't smiling, but something in his face looked rested and clear.

'You spoke quite loudly.'

'Ah.'

'When this is over,' Kyo said, 'We should go for a walk.'

Ruki's palm was sweating; he gripped Kyo's hand tighter.

'That an invitation?'

There was an elated feeling inside him, like he could have yelled Kyo's name for hours.

'Yes, obviously.'

Just as hard, Kyo squeezed his hand back, and carefully Ruki rested his head against his shoulder, settling down to watch the bizarre performance in front of them: Shinya howling and barking, Aoi snapping, Toshiya purring, Eiji jumping out of his seat now and flinging a final disgusted look in Ruki's direction; George Harrison saying _please don't be long, please don't you be very long_ , Kyo's hand in his, Aoi holding himself up, Toshiya laughing silently, the hills, the sky, spinning softly in the distance, the door slamming closed and rebounding, Eiji's footsteps, the hills, the sky and _don't be long, don't be long, don't be long_.

'I met you,' Ruki whispered dimly, 'At a really strange time in my life.'

The body he leant against was so very warm and strong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy!


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and finally...

There was the musical sound of water flowing. Just as Toshiya had told them, the great sheet of ice that had grown over the hills had cracked under the warmth of the sun, and from every tree branch tender new buds dripped with water, and a thin meandering stream had opened up to rush down the mountainside. The brickwork and concrete of the sanatorium looked darkened and damp, the windows ablaze in the sunlight, but it was fast put behind them as they rounded the corner and began to climb.

It was easier than it had been when he'd first started going out on walk hours, Ruki realised. His legs must have grown stronger. Heat began to rise from the neck and cuffs of the raincoat he'd been forced into by the nurse on duty, and so he peeled it off, swinging it over his arm.

He took a deep breath. The afternoon air was sweet-smelling with the promise of spring, and the sky was a washed-looking blue. The sunlight was golden, almost molten, tangible as something to be scooped up and saved, and Ruki opened his hands to allow it to spill over his palms.

It was three o'clock, one of the last really sunlit hours of the day. The higher they climbed, the thinner and more sporadic the ice became; it crumbled easily underfoot and then disappeared altogether, leaving wet and springy grass in its stead; the ground was moist but firm, and it smelled green. They held hands, and that was something to marvel at: how casually Kyo reached for him now, the new and subtle intimacy that seemed to have grown between them.

'In a few weeks, all of this will be gone. Like it was never here.'

Ruki nodded as they reached the crest of their small peak, following a thin trickle of a path – just a slightly balder stretch of grass – to drop down to the other side, sheltered from the breeze. They stopped at a flattish plateau, the hills rising out of blue hazes all around them, and Ruki considered that: _like it was never here_. Like a dream. All the past ten months, just one long dream; a break from real life, something to dissipate as he woke and as the yellow morning wore on.

But he remembered everything.

He remembered the coldness and dampness of Osaka in winter and the turpentine smell of Eiji's studio and the jutting look of Die's ribcage. He remembered Shinya covering his face with his hands and the way Uruha's lips twitched as he counted and Aoi on his knees and elbows with his forehead to the music room floor, and he remembered Kai and he remembered The Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel and Toshiya and Jimi Hendrix and the way his mother had sat in Sato's office, and he remembered Sato himself, and he remembered Kyo.

And he remembered Kyo.

 

Spreading his raincoat out on the ground, Ruki lowered himself down onto his knees.

'There's so much of it,' he said softly, feeling rather than seeing Kyo lay down his own coat and seat himself next to him, 'So much here. Like looking out to sea. I remember arriving here, and starting to go out on walks, and realising all of a sudden that it was beautiful. That they'd built us such a beautiful prison.'

He glanced down briefly, taking an odd sort of strength from the sturdiness of his own body; the simple, tiny miracle of a body that was alive.

'I told you I had a dream,' he continued, his voice steady even though his words felt reckless, 'Of you and me, on top of the hill like this, with the sun and the moon sharing the same sky.' He paused, biting his lower lip. 'We were doing it, in the dream I had. You were inside me.'

He cast a quick, sharp glance at the other man. He found his face turned out towards the sun, half light and half shadow, giving nothing away except the slight roundedness of his cheek that hinted, perhaps, at a smile.

'I barely even knew you, but I still wanted you. It wasn't like wanting anybody else. When it came to Eiji, I wanted to be with him, but I didn't want to...it just never seemed that important. The fucking.' He blinked blindly against the dazzling sky, 'It was just something to...to get _done_. To get out of the way, to keep him with me. But you...' he hesitated, picking his words carefully, 'I'll always want you. Even if I live to be a hundred, I'll never stop. I'll never be able to forget how good you felt, even just in my mind.'

A little wistfully, he smiled. 'I know you're not ready right now. But even if you're never ready...'

'No, I'm ready.'

There was a beat of silence. Something like a jolt, almost electric, ran through Ruki's body and made his skin prickle; he turned and found Kyo facing him now, his dark stare steady and level and full of an unfamiliar heat that made Ruki feel flushed. He shifted, the area between his legs feeling newly sensitive; he was aware of his heart, how it suddenly raced.

'You're ready,' he repeated, and swallowed against the slight breathlessness he heard in his own voice.

'I think so.' Kyo tipped his head back, scrutinising the dazzling sky. 'You see, I couldn't figure you out. You discovered all the worst things about me, but you kept coming back. You touched me, let yourself rest against me – you trusted me. To be gentle.' He paused. 'So I decided to believe in you.'

'You decided to believe in me.'

'Yes, one hundred percent.' He shrugged. 'My heart grew around you. It won't accept anybody else. And when I realised that, I started imagining a future...and it wasn't enough. I wanted to be in that future. To live it.'

His tone of voice was measured, easy, as if everything was so simple.

It occurred to Ruki that perhaps things really were that simple.

Smiling, he dragged the other man to the ground.

 

Nothing above him but Kyo; nothing above Kyo but sky.

Swimming in the fresh clear air it felt a little redundant, but Ruki tipped his head back and whispered 'I want you' as warm, beautifully angular lips kissed his cheek, his neck, his throat. Completing his dream, so that the next part could come; so that Kyo could rise up on his forearms above him, direct that smouldering, heated look down into his face and kiss him fiercely. One hand tangled itself in his hair, the other skimmed beneath his clothes and flattened itself over his hip, making him groan.

'Take it off,' Kyo said, his voice almost a growl, and together they pulled Ruki's T-shirt and sweatshirt off in one smooth motion. Gone was any notion of shyness; with hands that trembled excitedly he pushed back, stripping Kyo of his own clothes; he felt the other man's fingers slip beneath the waist of his pants and pushed his hips up eagerly, allowing them to be pulled away from his body.

Naked, he wriggled, feeling the sunlight unfold over his skin. He watched as Kyo got to his knees over his body, took one of his hands and guided it to the top of his own pants. Gently, Ruki curved his fingers beneath it; felt the thrilling warmth of his skin, the barest hint of hair against his fingertips. It made him want more: he flicked his eyes up to Kyo's face.

'You're sure?' he checked, and Kyo smiled at him.

'Yes. Are you?'

Wide-eyed, all Ruki could do was nod as Kyo slowly pushed the last of his clothing out of the way. Nude, he made an apparently reflexive motion to cover himself, but Ruki grasped his hips and held him steady.

'Let me look at you,' he said, his own voice sounding deeper in his ears. 'You look so good.'

He thought he saw Kyo flush a little at that, but the other man remained still, up on his knees before the surrounding hills. He allowed Ruki's hands to form themselves to the shape of his hips – so delicately hinged, those joints, such a surprise on that powerful, angular body – and to slowly move lower, touching him more intimately, feeling his thighs and the way his long, strong muscles quivered slightly.

Ruki could feel himself blushing now. Experimentally he drew a soft line up Kyo's inner thigh and felt the other man shiver.

'I can't believe you're letting me do this,' he admitted lowly, 'Letting me look at you and touch you like this...'

'I like having you look at me.'

Kyo's cheeks were truly warm-looking now, but his legs were braced and his shoulders angled defiantly. It was a strangely compelling mix; the power of his body with that shy face on top; it made Ruki want to touch more of him; as much of him as he could. He felt soft pubic hair, testing its texture against his fingertips, and with a nervous swallow he allowed his hand to venture further, wrapping tentatively around his cock.

He was hard, flushed, warm to the touch. He felt different to both Eiji and Ruki himself; _thicker_ , as if there was more of him somehow. Carefully Ruki flattened his fingers out, trailing them up the length of him; he heard a soft hiss from above and smiled, brushing just the tip of a finger against against the rosy head, smudging the tiny bead of liquid that had gathered there.

'I don't know if it's going to fit, you know,' he said seriously. 'We might have to – hey!'

He laughed as Kyo tackled him backwards, pinning his hands down beside his face; his smile turned to a stifled moan as the other man bit lightly at his neck and ground against him, the heat and hardness of him insistent against Ruki's skin.

'I did _prepare_ ,' he said, his words coming out in an embarrassed mumble against Ruki's neck, and with a little difficulty Ruki pushed himself up on his elbows.

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah,' Kyo said, his cheeks flaming. As Ruki watched interestedly, he began rummaging through the pockets of one of the coats they lay upon, pulling something free: a small tub that Ruki took from him and examined.

'Medical grade lubricant,' he read out, trying to ignore the way his own cock twitched excitedly against Kyo's hip, 'Did you swipe this from the nurses?'

'No,' Kyo said shortly, and flushed harder when Ruki just raised his eyebrows. 'It was given to me,' he said grudgingly.

' _Given_ to you – by who? How?'

'I went into my bedroom,' Kyo explained brusquely, 'And it was lying on my pillow with a note that said _just in case_.' He snorted. 'Not as subtle as he thinks, that Aoi.'

Grinning, Ruki let his head fall back, tipping his chin indulgently to let the sunlight at the pale skin of his throat.

'Will it work?' Kyo asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice, and Ruki smiled wider. He was struck all over again by the _weirdness_ of it; the strange power of being the one who knew more, had experienced more. He wasn't prepared for the way it made him feel: so oddly in control, even when his thighs were spreading themselves further apart for Kyo to come between them; even when the other man was touching him so lightly, so tentatively now between his legs, one careful finger slipping back behind his balls to feel the softness of the skin there. Under Kyo's gentle, explorative touches, he felt sexy in a way he realised that he never had before, and it made him want to give in to it; to push his hips up, to let his lips at the tantalising golden skin of Kyo's exposed neck, to touch.

'It'll work,' he said a little hoarsely, pressing himself just gently upward against Kyo's body. 'Try it.'

He read Kyo's look easily; a sort of concern, tempered with heavy desire, and smiling he took the other man's hand and guided it down to where he wanted it. He realised that the same thought might just have occurred to both of them: that there were no directions, from now on. No more maps to highlight their route, or guide their way. Whatever they stepped into, good or bad, was a wilderness.

The only solution seemed to be to keep each other close.

 

On their little perch on top of the world, Kyo slid a finger inside Ruki's body. His forehead rested against the younger man's shoulder, hiding his face from view; he breathed there shallowly, the fierce rhythm of his heart beating a tattoo across Ruki's chest.

And the air in Ruki's lungs felt ragged, and his hands gripped helplessly at Kyo's back; scratched at his hips, pulled at his hair. He shivered there, kissing whatever he could reach, and when the other man tentatively began to move his hand he moaned, his head falling back against the bed they had made.

An odd perspective: the red sun, the hills clinging to the sky. Hypnotising.

'More,' he found the breath to say, 'Please.'

He looked upward to find Kyo gazing down at him, his eyes impossibly dark; slowly, deliberately, the other man pushed a second finger inside him, and Ruki flushed hotly when he realised what Kyo was doing: he was watching him, _studying_ him, moving his fingers in a way that made Ruki writhe and taking note of his reactions, the arching of his back and his little whimpers, figuring out what worked. It was the strangest feeling, having Kyo's touch inside him; never before had he had this sense of being explored, of his most intimate places being _stroked_ like this; Kyo crooked his fingers deeper and Ruki cried out, clutching him tight around the shoulders; for just a moment something wonderful had happened, and his cock jerked eagerly against the other man's body.

'There?' Kyo asked, his voice thick with desire, and all Ruki could do was nod. His words seemed to have gotten lost somewhere inside him; inarticulately he moaned, and thought he saw a flash of a smile pass over the other man's face as he moved his fingers again within him, purposefully caressing and almost _massaging_ that spot inside of him until Ruki was gasping, his hips straining upward, his breath coming out in harsh pants.

'Oh, fuck,' he said weakly, feeling the way his body seemed to have gone completely boneless with need; limply he swatted Kyo's hand away, 'I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that. I...'

'That's okay.'

Swallowing heavily, Ruki looked up into his eyes.

'No. I don't want to cum until you're inside me.'

He shook his head; smiled up at the other man even though his eyes were wet. Clumsily he moved him where he wanted him, Kyo's body between his legs so that Ruki's ass was balanced on the other man's thighs, his legs wide apart. It was hard not to blush; the position he was in opened his body up so completely, put him so on display. He'd never even tried it like this before; had only the vaguest idea in his head of what he wanted. A little awkwardly, given the angle, he reached around for the lubricant and slicked Kyo's cock up, his hand trembling slightly; he wiped his sticky hand on the grass and lay back, aware now that his whole body was shaking.

Fear. Desire.

He knew without question which one would win; which one had already won. He felt the hot, hard tip of Kyo's dick press against him and breathed out, his body relaxing; he had an impression of pressure, of being stretched, but not uncomfortably.

Above him, wordless, Kyo clutched at his thigh. With his cock halfway in he seemed stunned, his breathing ragged; silently Ruki grabbed his hand and linked their fingers together, squeezing tight.

'It's okay,' he said, his voice hoarse.

'I'm not – am I hurting you?' the other man asked abruptly, and Ruki shook his head, smiling up at him softly.

'You would never hurt me,' he said honestly. Their eyes met, and Kyo gave him a tiny nod.

 

Ruki held his breath as carefully, inch by inch, Kyo pushed himself all of the way inside him; when their bodies finally connected, Ruki's cock rubbing up against Kyo's flat lower belly, he let it out in a shaky sigh.

The feeling was so strong, so overwhelmingly intimate that he wanted to do something: to laugh or cry. With both hands he reached for him; held onto him tightly; he felt the other man's pulse, fiercer and steadier than his own, beating inside of him.

'This is what it's supposed to be like,' Ruki managed to say at last, 'This is it. How it's supposed to feel. I...' Dumbly, he just kissed him, trying to communicate some of the helpless emotion he was feeling; he thought, from the way Kyo held him so gently, that he might be feeling the same way. With steady hands he pushed Ruki's legs back, pausing to kiss one pale thigh before he hooked it over his own shoulder, the change of angle making Ruki pant. With his hands on the younger man's hips he moved experimentally, sliding out an inch or so before pushing back in, his eyes falling closed.

'More,' Ruki said breathlessly, his cock leaking precum, 'Oh god, more, please, _please_ —'

He lost the rest of his words in a strangled whine as Kyo thrust into him, the other man's cock brushing tantalisingly against the place he most needed it; he struggled, his back arching, and felt a dizzy thrill of lust as Kyo gripped his hips to hold them still and moved into him again, harder this time, making Ruki cry out. His head fell back, his eyes shut tight; he could hear the sound of Kyo's breathing, of the soft sounds coming from the other man's throat; he gasped as he was fucked, hard but deliciously slowly, _tauntingly_ , every inch of Kyo's cock pressing within him and making him moan.

'Please,' he said incoherently, trying to make out the shape of the other man through his blurring vision. He couldn't seem to figure out what he had expected: Kyo to be reserved, perhaps, his usual serious self, keeping himself closed off, keeping himself hidden.

'Fuck,' he moaned, his mind going completely blank, 'Fuck, _Kyo_ —'

He whimpered as the older man leant down to him, cock pressing hot and hard inside him as he kissed him on the lips, pulling the groan from his throat.

How could he have anticipated this: the man above him so intense, so present, dark eyes fixed on his as he moved, burying his cock deeper and deeper inside of him; the way his lips kissed, the noises he made; his hands seeking out every inch of Ruki's skin, telling him by touch that he was beautiful?

Kyo thrust into him hard and all he could do was sob, completely lost in how good he felt: _how_ , he thought fiercely, how could anybody do this with somebody and not recognise the raw power of it; the potential to not just to tear down but to build? Rocking his hips desperately against Kyo's body, feeling the way he moved within him, he let himself go: tipping his head back, he cried out from pleasure, his fingers curling uselessly. There was a mild sort of panic within him: a sense that this might end and that it was too soon, _far_ too soon. 'I'm close,' he managed to say raggedly, 'I'm so close, I—'

'So cum,' Kyo almost growled, hips snapping forward, and Ruki gave a strangled cry as he gave in; his body shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting his hands helplessly in the grass: he had one final impression of the mountains around him, their negatives reflected against the backs of his eyelids as he came, his hips bucking uselessly. There was a pulse of something inside of him, of warmth, and he heard a choked sort of gasp from close by his ear; tightly, Kyo's hands gripped him. As the other man came, he bit down softly on Ruki's shoulder.

 

Peace.

Lying on his back with his eyes closed, Ruki slowly rebuilt the world around him. The structures of the hills grew again, of the clouds and the sun and the sky; he reached out clumsily and drew Kyo's shaking body closer to his own, feeling the sweat on both their skins.

'Are you okay?'

'That was...'

Ruki felt rather than saw it as Kyo simply shook his head; wordless, he kissed Ruki's shoulders, his chest, his neck; he went for his cheeks but Ruki caught his face between his hands; redirected it to his lips.

Quietly then, they lay next to each other. The rabbit skip of Ruki's heartbeat calmed; his breathing evened out; the sweat cooled on his body. There was no rush to move. He felt strangely overawed by the enormity of what they'd just done, and he was grateful when Kyo gently turned him onto his side and pulled him more completely into his arms; he needed that, the touch, the closeness. A gentle kiss behind his ear made him smile, and he gripped the hands that circled his waist.

'I love you,' he said simply. His voice had just the slightest croak to it from where he'd gasped and cried out; he pushed himself harder against the other man's body. 'It's never felt like that. Never.' His voice shook slightly and Kyo stroked gently at his hair.

'What do we do now?' he asked quietly, and Ruki smiled.

'Go back, I guess.'

'I don't want to leave you.'

'You don't have to.'

'Will you sleep with me tonight?'

There was a hesitance in his voice that made Ruki want to cry; turning in his arms, he kissed him softly.

'Of course.'

Kyo paused, something lost in his expression.

'I didn't know it was like this,' he said finally. 'I didn't know I'd feel so...' he shook his head.

'Do you regret it?'

'No.' A little brokenly, the older man smiled at him. 'Do you?'

'No.'

Tenderly, Ruki rested his head against Kyo's chest. They would have to go back, of course, but because they were already late it didn't seem to matter very much. He had a curious feeling that some kind of deep and fundamental change had come over the both of them. Before they had carried injuries, he thought, open wounds upon the soul; now they had...not healed, but transformed.

No longer wounds, but gates. The jagged edges smoothing, knitting over; a doorway, a gate, to go through. To receive love through.

His vision blurred and cleared, blurred and cleared. Kyo clutched him tighter; he clung back. He was aware that he might have been saying the other man's name, murmuring it over and over; he was aware of the other man's hands in his hair, on his back, of his lips kissing his forehead and a tear falling onto his cheek. It might have come from either one of them.

The sun was setting. Slowly they sat up, dressed themselves with stiff movements; Kyo picked up the discarded and now thoroughly muddy coats from the ground and looped them over his arms.

'It's weird,' Ruki said softly, 'I know I'll see this view again, but it feels like the last time. It feels like I'll never see it like this again.' He shrugged. 'Everything's going to change.'

Kyo inclined his head a little.

'Correct.'

'I really do love you.'

Taking his hand, Kyo pressed his own love against Ruki's palm like a stone: something to keep. The sky streamed red, vapour trails criss-crossing here and there; the hills were dusk-covered, fading into the early gloaming.

'What are you looking at?' Ruki asked at last, and heard the smile in the other man's voice as he answered.

'You, of course.' He paused, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. 'You look invincible,' he said.

Ruki smiled back at him.

'I am.'

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this got so long. Damn.


	59. Chapter 59

He died that afternoon. Perhaps at some time between Ruki dragging Kyo down with him on the grass and Kyo taking him by the hips, pushing himself inside of the body spread open before him, he had taken one of the grey sweatshirts, soft from repeated washings, and tied the sleeve of it around the newly reinstalled bars in his bedroom. He could spare them, this time; this time his escape didn't need warm clothes.

The other sleeve he had folded clumsily, and Ruki could picture it: his shaking, determined hands struggling to create a knot that could slip back and forth on itself. Once finished, maybe a pause, some time to assemble his thoughts – but more likely not. He wouldn't be the type for that. Much more likely he had simply looped the knot around his neck and gone stubbornly, lucidly ahead with it, allowing his body to go slack on the floor and the blood to race desperately in his temples, popping red and blue lights to flash in front of his eyes; succeeding, first time around, in hurling himself off the face of the earth.

 _Just in case_.

And it had never been about them. Ruki saw that now. Aoi's gift placed so delicately on Kyo's pillow – that note, was there something there in code, in the elegant scrawl of the handwriting, belying a hand that might have been writing hastily so it wouldn't tremble so much on the corners? – had been simply a means to an end, a perfectly choreographed move. He had understood them all in a way that they had never understood him. It had been a way to get the two of them out into the hills, to get rid of Ruki's inquisitive, questioning nature; to send Kyo with him and to make the two of them late, ensuring every nurse in the place would have his or her nose pressed against the asylum windows, anxious for their return. The faded sheen of Kyo's old danger had acted like a beacon, drawing attention outward whilst inward, inside, Aoi had made his preparations unobserved and without interference. By the time anybody had thought to check behind his closed door he had already been dead for some minutes, although nobody could be sure of the exact time.

It had been the perfect plan, Ruki thought numbly later: Aoi's present to them not a present at all but a calling card, a final clue to his inscrutable nature; to the dark heart of him where nobody, after all, had ever been.

_Just in case._

Getting them all out of the way, so that he could die in peace.

 

It seemed the sanatorium lost its centre, after that. Whatever structure had existed at its core was gone, and though it kept on going for another few weeks or so, it was obvious to anybody that it was little more than a corpse on life support, an artificial system. Better to let it die; to cut off the poison before it spread.

And so slowly, over the next few weeks, they left. The anonymous souls trapped in the permanent daylight upstairs were the first to go, transferred en masse to a recently built hospital in the southernmost tip of the prefecture, near Kizugawa; Toshiya was next to leave, packed up and shipped off to a specialist rehabilitation clinic in Hyogo, and Shinya's parents arranged a transfer for him to a private facility in Osaka. Ruki applied for release, got a letter signed by Dr Sato and his case file rubber stamped by an independent board of three bored-looking doctors, and that was _it_. No fuss and no fanfare: just his clothes crammed back into his suitcase along with his few LPs and books, his artwork boxed up neatly to await framing.

The end. After all those months it seemed so easy; he floated through the process in a fog. A kind of numbness had settled over his entire body; his grief felt bottomless but also strangely removed from him, contained like something trapped in amber. He knew the day would come when the shell would crack and the sorrow would spill out, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to worry about it very much: it would happen in the future, and he would deal with it when it did, or else he wouldn't. One path led backwards, to a place like the sanatorium and another round of doctors, of patients, of nurses; hospital beds and hypodermic needles and drugs; the smell of radiator dust, of stillness, of boredom. Places like that would always exist, he knew that, both within and without; a sort of chasm in his mind. This time he'd crossed it safely, but there was always the threat that it might open up again; that it might catch him unawares this time, make him lose his footing, slip down into the darkness forever.

But it didn't seem very likely. When he thought hard about it, it didn't even seem like an option. There was that other path, after all, and that one led...somewhere else. Led _onward_.

The future, seen in that light, seemed to glow faintly, an alluring glitter clinging to its surface: dazzle camouflage to hide its shifting, ever-changing shape. He wanted it; he was fairly sure of that now. He thought he might be strong enough to fight for it, if it came down to that.

His last few days at the asylum were sunny and cool, spent mostly outside. Sometimes they climbed, he and Kyo together; other days they simply sat out on the lawn. Ruki fell into the habit of bringing Kai's little radio out with them, lying on his back on the grass and feeling the spirits of his friends around him: Die cooped up in the ward, going stir crazy; Shinya sitting at a window, gazing dreamily outward; Uruha and Aoi finding places for themselves out among the tall grasses; Kai running about, his white T-shirt grass-stained, caught up in another game of soccer with the orderlies. His radio never far away, playing one of those songs that seemed to come back on the airwaves whenever the weather started warming up again: _Sunny Afternoon, Sitting On The Dock Of A Bay, Summertime Blues_.

There was a heaviness in his chest like he wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't seem to come. He wished they would: he had the impression that he would feel better once they did; cleaner, somehow.

It took much longer for the board of doctors to make a decision about Kyo. Ruki didn't go so far as saying it aloud – he figured the other man understood – but that was what he was waiting around for. He had a strangely certain feeling that whatever would be decided for Kyo would be decided for both of them: he had the sense that his fate would be tangled up with the other man's whatever happened.

Truthfully, he loved him too much to leave him. And so there was no question about that, either; it was the same as mourning Aoi's death. He couldn't go backwards, and so he had to go forwards; to make that future for himself.

Still, sitting with him in the tall grass or curling his body around his in bed, listening to his heartbeat, it felt odd that he still had the ability to feel happy – to smile, to feel content, to breathe in the familiar smell of his skin and feel safe, even.

On the last day they watched the sun rise as their strange threesome: Kyo and Ruki and Aoi's ghost, still in the afterlife, no longer a fidgeter.

'It feels weird that I'm going to miss it,' he said quietly, feeling a steady warmth where Kyo's shoulder pressed lightly against his, 'This view. These mountains.'

But they were part of him now. They were his landscape.

 

_You're so far away_

_Doesn't anybody stay in one place any more?_

_It would be so fine to see your face at my door..._

Ruki pushed down the taxicab's window, and Carole King's gentle, easily hoarse voice became lost in the sound of rushing air. It was warm, and a baked sort of smell rose from the leather on the back seat. Gently, Ruki rested his chin against the sill of the lowered window: let the scenery flow past him, too quick to capture. Through the blur of trees that lined the side of the road, he caught the occasional flash and glimpse of the sea. He could hear it, too, if he focussed on it over the rush of air: the great swell and crash of it, a long way below.

The taxi climbed, swaying sickeningly on the corners and then slowing as the road turned sandier, and then suddenly it widened and levelled out and they were turning off in the middle of a grove of bluish trees. Ruki opened his door with numb hands and smelled the air: salt and pine, warm sap. He heard the door on the other side of the taxi close, and a gentle hand touched the small of his back briefly, steadying him.

He allowed himself, just briefly, to lean back against it. To pretend that he was young enough to be steadied by a single person; still small enough to be carried.

He could never quite understand how it worked: the strength he was able to take from Kyo's steady, silent presence; the way he could lean on him without even touching him.

There was only one path to take. Leading steadily upward, it meandered through the trees, and the two of them were quiet as they climbed. Gradually grey stone walls began to materialise through the confusion of trunks, and then a metal gate, and Ruki expected it to squeak when he pushed it but it was silent, swinging forth easily. The only sound was the ocean, water frothing on rock; that and, high and thin above it, the mournful sound of seabirds as they cried.

Gravestones rose like pillars on every side of them, clustered like mourners, and Ruki tucked Kyo's hand into his as they made their way down the path in the centre. This wasn't a large graveyard: it wasn't hard to find the place. The right stone already had a scanty crowd of mourners around it, seeming to shimmer in the still summer air as if they weren't quite real, and Ruki was aware that his legs started to move faster as he approached them.

Die's face had filled out a little, he noticed, and the fire-engine red colour he'd used to dye his hair had given way to a faded dark blond; as if picking up the mantle for him Toshiya had become skinnier, his face showing hollows beneath the cheekbones, and he wore long sleeves even under the stultifying August sun. By Die's side Uruha looked as serious as he ever had, but something had cleared from him; some great, enduring rage had disappeared from his eyes, softening him; he looked sad now, and kept his eyes fixed on Aoi's gravestone. His body was completely still and calm.

The gulls made a keening noise. Ruki bent closer to the gravestone. He laid a reverent hand upon it as if to steady himself, but all he was really doing was feeling its surface; committing it to memory, the last symbol of Aoi on this earth. A name, and a date. That was all.

His hand contorted against the polished stone and he straightened up, letting the sun get in his eyes. The sky was almost too blue to look at. It was such a beautiful summer day.

 

'I'm so mad at him,' Die said simply at last, his voice a little rougher than Ruki had heard it last, as if he'd aged. 'I shouldn't be, but I am. I should...' he wavered a little, 'I should try and look at it from his point of view, right? Try and understand his feelings. But he never fucking shared them with us, so how can I? Never wrote back to us. Never agreed to see us. _Fuck_ him.'

Nobody seemed to know what to say. Uruha stared fixedly at the gravestone, as if hypnotised.

'It was always about us,' Die said savagely, 'Never about him. He dies and everyone gets set free, how fucking perfect is _that_? Like he _planned_ it.'

'Die,' Uruha said, and Die blinked up at him. Perhaps he was thinking what Ruki was: that Uruha's voice sounded so strong now, so self-assured. Like a grown-up.

'He loved you,' Ruki said hollowly, and Die took a deep breath and let it out as a slow, shaky sort of sigh.

'C'mon,' Toshiya said uneasily, 'We're here to have a funeral, right?'

Swinging his rucksack off his shoulders, he unzipped it and set about taking out paper cups and cans of beer; decorously, he poured one out for everybody and, with a solemn face, set a sixth open can before Aoi's grave. In a messy sort of way the five of them took seats on the sandy ground. There was a feverish sort of look to him, Ruki thought, a kind of fervour, and he drank quicker than anybody, draining his cup in no time and pouring himself another.

'Anybody want to say anything?' he prompted uncertainly, and bit his lip. He reached out, all long scatty limbs, and where he sleeve rode up Ruki caught a quick glimpse of it: the bruise that spread along the lines of his veins, tracing a toxic route to his heart.

It was hard to swallow. The beer was warm and tasted like metal.

' _Here_ ,' Toshiya said, at last hooking the guitar case from where it rested on the ground behind him; he opened it and deposited the instrument inside into Die's lap. 'Play something.'

'I don't know what to play for him,' Die said, but he curled his hand slowly around the guitar's neck, as if by accident, and settled it more carefully into his lap. They waited, and at length he strummed it; played an experimental chord.

A teardrop fell to the ground in front of him, lost among the scattered pine needles. They pretended not to see. His hands shook on the strings as he stumbled his way through The Doors' _Indian Summer_. Nobody sang. They all simply watched Die play, his head resolutely hidden from view, and Ruki supplied the words in his mind. He lifted his head briefly to meet Kyo's eyes; found the other man already looking at him.

Die's fingers clenched hard at the guitar's neck; his hand fell away from the strings, and he curled in on himself. He cried harshly, the breath tearing itself from his lungs, and when Uruha placed a careful hand on his shoulder he shrugged it away roughly. With abrupt, broken movements he clasped his hands to his face and sobbed, the still bony and jagged lines of his shoulders and back heaving shockingly.

With a face that seemed on the edge of falling apart, Uruha swallowed heavily and took the guitar from Die's lap, settling it gently in his own. He took his time with it, his motions precise and careful as he plucked a string here, tightened a tuning peg there; steadily, easily he began to play, a beautiful and simple rendition of _Blackbird_.

'...Singing in the dead of night,' Toshiya picked up after a long moment, his voice not quite on key; he gestured a little desperately for them to join him, 'Take these sunken eyes and learn to see...'

'All your life,' Die joined him, his voice hoarse but pleasant, 'You were only waiting for this moment to be free—'

'Blackbird, fly—'

' _Black_ bird, fly—'

'Into the light of the dark black night...'

Uruha's fingers stilled, cutting them all off raggedly. He gave a small smile of apology which lapsed straight away, his face falling into the lines of a deep and terrible misery; his hands shook as he placed the guitar hurriedly in the centre of the circle.

Ruki watched as Die gathered him up as he'd gathered Aoi up all those months ago, and then he had to look away. Something hot and awful was loosening in his own chest, rising so quickly it threatened to choke him; he forced himself to stare at them and to see how small and how vulnerable Die looked in Uruha's arms; how Uruha buried his face in his friend's neck, his fingers clutching reflexively at the empty folds of T-shirt that fell around Die's waist.

 

They had never known him. Aoi had brought them all here to show them that. He had stayed a puzzle until the last gasp, doling out pieces of himself to Die and to Uruha, but in the end it was never enough: there were too many pieces missing, too many empty spaces to put him back together.

And he'd had, as Kyo would have said, a choice. He'd chosen a world apart from them; had chosen a place of clifftop graveyards, the squalling of seabirds, ash in sandy soil.

But it was the same choice that they all had to make every day: live, or die, and the part that wrenched was that it wasn't always _easy_ to live; that sometimes you had to fight for it. It could feel impossible, at the very edge of endurance; it could feel, at times, confusing, frightening, desperate. It took strength.

And they would never understand exactly what Aoi had been so afraid of. That part they could only ever guess at, and never know for sure if they were right: that most vital truth of him was just another lost piece among thousands, ash dispersed irrevocably into the sea breeze.

So they drank; so they played music. Crushed cans piled up beside them and they played The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Buddy Holly. Uruha played a slow, sad version of _I Only Want To Be With You_ ; Die forced himself through _Wouldn't It Be Nice_ ; Toshiya, unaccustomed to playing guitar, stumbled his way through _If Not For You_.

And The Beatles: _In My Life, Here Comes The Sun, Strawberry Fields Forever_ ; Ruki was reminded forcefully of his hours in the isolation room, how his friends had gathered around outside the door with Die's portable cassette tape player and worked their way through a whirling jukebox of songs, the same back catalogue they called upon now: _All You Need Is Love, With A Little Help From My Friends, She Said She Said_. The sun started to edge further towards the horizon. Toshiya's supply of beer ran out, and when Uruha leant forward to light the few small candles that still stood before Aoi's grave, the lambent flames enticed moths to swoop low over their little gathering. Ruki couldn't figure out how long they'd been sitting there.

'One more,' Die said at last, his voice hoarse from singing, and their elongated shadows ducked and bobbed as they nodded. He finished with a final rendition of _Indian Summer_ , as if it was needed to close things off. Getting to his feet, he carefully rested the guitar against Aoi's gravestone. His hand lingered over his name.

 

'We'll meet up again,' Toshiya said anxiously, his eyes growing fat on the darkness, 'Won't we?'

Die shot him an abbreviated half-smile. 'Yeah, of course.'

Ruki watched them all decide not to voice what they were all thinking: that Toshiya would likely be the hardest to pin down; the first of them to slip away and disappear, off down some dark alley in the heart of a city they'd never know. The rest of them – well, they might get together again, once or twice, while they were still young.

But like keeping the asylum open a few more weeks, that would be life support, too.

The five of them walked mostly in silence through the trees, facing away from the sea. They followed a thin path that widened out; the ground underfoot sloped slightly downwards and deposited them finally on a road with a single car parked in a verge. Die jammed his hands into his pockets.

'Anybody want a ride?' he asked, his voice carefully steady. 'I'm gonna head to the station, so...'

'Me, please,' Uruha said, and Toshiya smiled.

'I'll take that ride, too. But only if I can have the back seat.'

'You want the back?'

'Yeah, I like the back.'

'Ruki? Kyo?'

Ruki hesitated.

'I guess we'll walk into town,' he said carefully. 'It's not far. Take a taxi from there.'

Die nodded. 'Right.'

'But first...'

A little awkwardly, he disentangled his bag from his shoulder and fished out a polaroid camera. 'I know you shouldn't take pictures on days like these,' he said nervously, 'But I thought...'

There was a pause.

'Yeah,' Die said at last, a little heavily. 'That's a good idea.'

'Okay.' Ruki licked his dry lips, tasting salt, 'I've got a flashcube, but we'll have to squash in; I don't have a self-timer or anything.'

There was a small stir as they arranged themselves; Die, Uruha and Toshiya competed to see who had the longest arms, and Toshiya declared himself the victor and moved to the edge. Kyo stood next to him, and then Ruki, and Uruha, and Die. They pressed in as tightly together as they could, Ruki laying a flat, still hand on Kyo's lower back to soothe him, and there was a blinding blue flash and the click of a shutter.

 

They took the low road towards the town, the one that meandered along the beach, and Ruki realised that Aoi's family could hardly have laid him to rest in a more beautiful place.

He looked at Kyo: at his silver profile in the moonlight. They spent every day and every night together, but still one day the moment would come where Ruki would say, _tomorrow it will be a year since I last laid eyes on him_ ; or Kyo would say it of him.

'Never walked on sand like this before,' Kyo remarked in his gruff voice, and Ruki smiled up at him. When he kissed him, he felt the reaction in his body; the rush of warmth that never failed to send a rush through him.

'Take your shoes off.'

Hand-in-hand, they walked to the edge of the water, and Ruki drew in a sharp breath as a cold little wavelet washed over his foot. He turned; found the deep, enduring fondness in the eyes that watched him.

'I love you,' Kyo said simply, and Ruki smiled, blinking back the sudden tears.

'I love you too,' he said.

'You can cry for him, you know. It's not going to tear you apart.'

'Yeah, but there's always the risk,' Ruki joked, his voice breaking unevenly into a sob, and as his legs threatened to collapse he leant gratefully into the warm arms that surrounded him. As he cried, he felt the last few months purge themselves, leaving him trembling as something new; something lighter.

'Let's go home,' he said indistinctly.

The moon was bright, the sea black, the sand as fine as sugar underfoot.

Outside of the sanatorium, Ruki thought, the air was so very fresh and clear.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's all over!
> 
> I'm sorry this ending is so sad. The truth is, even though I knew from the beginning that Aoi would die at the end, it didn't make this chapter any easier to write. He was my absolute favourite character to write in this, and I hope nobody is too angry with me for how this finishes...
> 
> That said, I am so, so incredibly grateful to everybody who has followed this story, who has read it, and especially those who have left their thoughts with me from time to time! If you've enjoyed this story, I'd absolutely love to know - if you've been silent all the way through, I hope you'll say a quick hello now! I kind of feel like writing this has been a real emotional journey, and I'd just really love to know who has shared it with me.


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